


Catenation

by Psyromayniak



Series: Eutectics [2]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Best Friends, Child Abuse, DCColdwave, Drug Use, Found Family, High School, High School AU, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Kissing, Len is 16, Lisa is 8, M/M, Mick is 18, Panic Attacks, Ray is 14, References to Drugs, References to Prostitution, Smoking, Underage Drinking, and I fucked around with the age gaps, coldatom, coldwave, it's 1988, tags may change and be updated, time for the messy part
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2016-11-25
Packaged: 2018-08-14 16:23:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8020801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psyromayniak/pseuds/Psyromayniak
Summary: Part Two of Eutectics
 After his father takes his fists to Leonard Snart, he's determined to make it the last time his sister is ever in danger. With the help of Mick and Ray, who's crush on Len is growing by the day, they set out to put Lewis behind bars for a long time. The second part of my High School AU, Eutectics, which was originally written for Coldatomweek2016.





	1. Friday Nights/Saturday Mornings

**Author's Note:**

> This carries on straight from the end of the last chapter of 'Uncertainty Principle', so I would **strongly** suggest you go and read it (or at least skim it) to refresh your memory!

The night air was cooling fast, the whisky still blazing heat in Ray’s throat, dancing on his tongue and burning in his cheeks in battle with the chill of the evening breeze. The sky was clear and bright, the stars hanging in perfect stillness and the new moon a sliver of white cutting through the blackness beside them.  

Ray let himself forget, for a time, why Leonard Snart was at his home. He let himself forget the bruises on Len’s jaw, his black eye, his scars (old and new), all in favour of Len’s lips against his own, Len’s tongue twisting lazy spirals into the roof of his mouth, and the way Len’s slender fingers felt brushed up against his skin, teasing the corners of his shirt.

Without conscious realisation, Ray had moved himself forward from his own seat into Leonard’s lap, Snart’s chest rising and falling fervently against him as they kissed; long and slow and steady.

Ray moved his hands up from their hold at Len’s waist, his fingers running softly up Snart’s back until they reached the nape of his neck, then carding into his thick, soft curls with wonder. Ordinarily, Len’s hair would have been almost crisp with the amount of product he combed into it to keep it flat and neatly parted, but now, under Ray’s touch, it was a wild mess and just long enough to _grasp_.

Ray felt himself moan gently, quite involuntarily, as Snart responded to his tightened grip in his hair with an ardent press of tongue. Ray’s insides turned to jelly and blood rushed through his ears.

Len’s kissing slowly eased back and Ray reluctantly let the older boy pull away, knowing all too well that his cheeks would be rosy pink, though thankfully hidden in the dusk. Snart traced the line of Ray’s jugular with the tip of a finger, coming to cup Ray’s jaw softly in his palm. He pursed his lips for a brief moment – an artist examining his latest piece with the eye of a critique – before throwing Ray a loose, wolfish grin; his eyes twinkling in the starlight, almost black.

“Aren’t _you_ a dark horse, Raymond?” Snart said with a wry smile, his thumb stroking a slow line across Ray’s cheek.

“I, uh…” Ray could feel himself, against all odds, growing redder still, his heart hammering beneath his ribs, “I mean I… I never kissed anyone before. Not like _that_. And it was… it was…”

“Good?” Len raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah.”

“I should hope so,” Snart was grinning again, and Ray couldn’t help himself but grin back.

Lost in the moment, Ray could have stayed there, on Len’s lap, for hours; long after the sun’s rays had begun to spill over the horizon, painting the sky in red-gold brushstrokes. But Len’s hand was at his hip, pushing lightly to coax him off of his thighs.

“It’s late,” Len was saying as Ray’s feet hit the floor, “you should head to bed. Busy day, tomorrow. Don’t want you lagging when we’ve got _scheming_ to do.”

With a noise of protest, Ray folded his arms, trying his best to stand his ground. “What about _you?_ ”

“ _Raymond,_ ” Len’s voice cut through the air between them like the teeth of a saw through soft pine, sending the ghost of a tingle through Ray’s spine. With a tilt of his head and thin, self-satisfied smirk, Snart’s hand darted into his jacket pocket to retrieve a fresh cigarette. “I’ve been asleep all _day._ I’m sure a late night won’t do me much harm.”

“But your sleep schedule-!” Ray winced the moment the words left his lips. Here in front of him was Leonard _Snart_ , petty thief, rebel and bad boy extraordinaire, who he’d just _made out with_.   
_Way to go, Palmer, you’re never going to get_ that _chance again…_

“-is _fucked_ ,” Snart finished for him, pushing himself out of his seat with one hand while he fished in another pocket for a lighter. “Go on, now, Raymond. _Off to bed_. I’ll be up soon enough.”

And before Ray could protest further, Len flicked open his zippo and struck the flint, sending a flash of sparks to ignite a small yet steady flame that flickered in the breeze. Positing the butt of the smoke between his lips, he cupped a hand over the end, turning out of the wind and away from Ray to light it.

The patio doors were already sliding shut when Len turned back, the back of Ray’s head just visible turning the corner into the hallway.

Crossing one leg across the other, Snart took a long, slow drag, catching the cigarette between two fingers and exhaling a sizeable cloud of smoke in front of his face. He sat back then, against the back of the chair, his eyes refocussing on a point in the distance as he wracked through the last hour in his head, then pushed it aside.

He’d deal with the fallout tomorrow, for _now_ he had more important things to worry about. Like figuring out how to put his father somewhere he couldn’t hurt Lisa ever again.

 

* * *

 

When Ray awoke the next morning it was almost a surprise to find Len curled up on the mattress on his floor. He was half expecting the older boy to still be perched in the yard, cigarette in hand and hair mussed attractively. But there he was, the covers half off and an arm lolling out over the side of his makeshift bed, knuckles brushing the carpet. Sunlight filtering through his curtains, ringing Len’s head in a halo of light. With his curls as they were, loose against the pillow, he was almost cherubic.  Gone was his furrowed brow, and no longer were his lips tightly pinched in a frown. Gone was the worry, the _fear_ , all wiped away in the serenity of sleep. The only sign of Snart’s distress was the purple-green, slowly fading, bruising about his eye and jaw, the split in his lip now near invisible.

It was almost a shame, Ray thought, that he’d have to wake him. Bring him back to the world, full of danger and uncertainty. But, as Len had said the night before, they had a busy day ahead of them.

Ray shifted, throwing off his covers, and slipping his feet into his waiting slippers. He’d sneak downstairs, he thought, maybe make Len a coffee, to soften the blow of the morning. But at the motion Len’s eyes flicked open, and Ray was met with a somewhat sleepy, lazy grin that mirrored the look Snart had given him after they’d kissed.

_Christ_. They’d kissed. It was all rushing back to him now, just as blood was rushing to his cheeks. Ray wrapped his arms hastily around his chest in an attempt to cover the moon-and-stars print pyjamas he’d unthinkingly put on before bed.

Len just quirked an eyebrow at him, wordlessly, rolling his shoulders and pushing himself up with a low groan. He stood for a second – in only yesterday’s underwear, Ray was all too quick to notice – stretching his arms over his head. Len moved, then, dipping over to the pile of clothes that Ray’s mother had very kindly left out for him the day before, selecting a clean t-shirt, socks and a pair of underwear and – with the casual ease of one used to the lack of privacy afforded by the American judicial system – stripped off.  
  
With a squeak, Ray quickly turned around, keeping his eyes fixed to his bedroom wall as he shuffled to his chest of drawers. He dressed as fast as he could, his back to the room and all too aware of Len’s presence. When he finally risked a glance over his shoulder, he was confronted with Snart pulling a hand through his hair with a frown that was quickly replaced with a smirk when Ray caught his eye.

“You’re _cute_ , Raymond,” Len said, crossing the distance between them in a few easy strides and touching his hand lightly to Ray’s hip.

For Ray, time seemed to stop. Len was so close, his breath against his skin, his scent – that familiar stale smoke, old leather and _musk_ … Ray felt his breath catch in his throat, standing stock still as Snart dipped his head forward just enough to brush his lips to Ray’s in a chaste kiss.

A second later – or an hour, a day, a _week_ , Ray’s brain was refusing to process time linearly – and he was gone, already halfway through the door, and calling back over his shoulder.

“Come _on_ , Raymond. Let’s _eat._ ”

Breakfast came and went with little hassle; Mrs Palmer piling Len’s plate high with bacon and sausages, and Len wolfing them down like a starved prairie dog. Ray watched with just a hint of smug satisfaction as Sydney pushed his single-helping of scrambled egg around his plate, throwing Len the filthiest of looks when he was sure their parents weren’t looking.

But soon enough Len was pulling on his leather jacket and tightening his bootstraps, and he and Ray were setting off to the bus stop, packed off with a paper bag of left-over roast chicken sandwiches that Mr Palmer had knocked up for them, and that Mrs Palmer had insisted they do not leave without.

 

* * *

 

“ _Lenny!!”_

There was a _shriek_ from the suddenly open front door as a small, mousey-brown shape hurtled like a cannonball down the path and barrelled, head first, into Snart. With a decided ‘ _oof_ ’, Len’s arms were wrapping around his sister and picking her up, spinning her around and pressing a kiss against her temple.

Giggling, Lisa wriggled enough for Len to let her go before taking firm grasp of his hand and dragging him with surprising force back down the path toward the house, explaining matter-of-factly how well Mick painted her nails and did her hair before bed.

Ray did his best to hang back, closing the gate to the path (painted white to match the picket fence), and following Len and Lisa a few steps behind. Mick was waiting for them – leaning heavily against the frame of the living room door – pausing long enough to let the latch click closed as Ray pulled the front door shut before sweeping Len into a tight embrace.

Ray felt his heartrate spike just a little as Len twined his arms around Mick’s sturdy waist, shoving his face into the older boy’s neck and visibly inhaling. A touch at his wrist, and Ray was pulled out of his trancelike stare by Lisa sidling up next to him, pulling an openly disgusted face (tongue out, eyes squeezed shut) at her brother’s evidently over-the-top display of affection.

At last Len broke away from Mick, one of Mick’s large hands going at once to cup Snart’s cheek, tilting his head up and running his thumb across the line of his jaw.

“Swelling’s gone down,” Mick said, his voice carrying the rough undertones of concern as Mick Rory was able to vocalise it, “but you still look like you’re gonna win first place in a panda costume contest. Plus, your hair’s all out o’ whack,” Mick’s other hand passed roughly through Len’s curls, “Boy Scout here not have any gel?”

Ray tried his best to throw out an apologetic smile as Mick jabbed a thumb in his direction, but Len’s hand was up at Mick’s wrist just as fast. It was those kind of touches, that casual familiarity, that Ray couldn’t help but notice. That he couldn’t help but _stare_ at, especially now he knew just how _intimately_ Mick and Len were acquainted.

Without thinking, Ray had taken a step forward, now just in reach of the pair, and found himself letting out the faintest of yelps as Len’s hand (the same one that, just a second ago, was at Mick’s wrist) closed around his bicep and pulled him closer still.

“ _Raymond_ ’s family all seem to be blessed with hair that _does_ what it’s _told_ , so no. No gel that I could find. Plenty of _other_ things though, isn’t that right?” Len smirked and shifted his grip to around Ray’s shoulders, “loofah mitts, _coasters_ , more than one fork at the dinner table. It was a different _world_.”

About to open his mouth to defend his distinctly middle class abode, Ray quickly shut it again when another arm came down across his shoulders from the other direction, effectively sandwiching him between his two, much larger, friends.

“More than one fork?” Mick was saying over Ray’s head, “you sure you ain’t been shoving reefers into that smoke-pack of yours?”

“Oh, I’m _sure_. The little forks are for dessert, isn’t that right, Raymond?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, they’re cake forks. But you can have a whole load of _other_ cutlery depending on what courses you’re going to be eating…”

“ _Shit_ ,” Mick was shaking his head, “it’s like he ain’t even from this _planet_. I mean, what kinda person has that many forks?! Surely it’s just gonna give you more dishes to wash.”

“Well, that isn’t a problem for the _Palmers_ , Mick. High class citizens that they are, they have a _dishwasher_.”

If it wasn’t for the lopsided grin on Len’s face, Ray would have felt attacked. But then again, it wasn’t like they were _wrong_. It hadn’t, until yesterday that is, really occurred to Ray how much better off he was. Sure, they teased him about it, but in the end he really did have to look at it as it was – he had a family, two hard working parents (and an idiot brother) that loved him. They weren’t perfect, but he never had to turn to crime just to put food in his stomach or clothes on his back.

 

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, the atmosphere had cooled considerably, tension stretched between the three boys as they sat sullenly in Mick’s bedroom, staring at a hastily jotted on sheet of paper. Lisa had been reluctant to leave them alone, clutching with vicelike grip to Len’s sleeve. Having only just got her brother back she was _determined_ not to let him go again, even into another room. Luckily, she was appeased with Disney’s ‘Robin Hood’ on VHS, with the promise of an ice cream cone later on if she was good and left them be for a while.

Len sat cross legged and close to Ray, his fingers steepled and resting on the bridge of his nose in thought, while Mick sat back in a chair that looked like it shouldn’t be able to support his weight.

“Offer to kill the son-of-a-bitch is still on the table,” Mick said at last, hunching forward and planting his elbows on his widely-spread knees as the chair legs creaked under him.

“ _Like I said_ ,” Len flicked his eyes closed for a second, “killing him’s too _risky_. Any number of things could go wrong, and the consequences are too high. Even if _I_ do it, I may not even be tried as a _minor_. I can’t risk either of us going away for that long. Not with Lisa to worry about.”

Mick gave a dejected huff.

“But it can be plan _B_ ,” Len opened his eyes with a smirk that was quickly wiped off of his face when the back of Ray’s hand connected with his thigh, “ _fine,_ plan _C_ , then. And if it comes to that we won’t implicate _you_ , Raymond, don’t worry about your budding scholarship options.”

“I’m _more_ worried about you two being so _unconcerned_ about taking a man’s life! Even in the hypothetical!” Ray shook his head in disbelief.

“He’s not a very _nice_ man, Raymond, as we’ve already established. Come on,” Len spread his palm across the meat of Ray’s thigh, stroking down toward his knee in a fluid motion, “it’s not going to come to that.”

Ray couldn’t help himself but sigh, part in exasperation that that was even _on the table_ as an idea, but mostly because Len’s hand was right _there_ , his fingers gliding over his inner thigh before hooking themselves loosely behind his knee. With an accompanying groan, Ray let himself list to the side, his shoulder bumping into Len’s and his temple just resting on the arch of his cheekbone.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t,” Ray flicked his eyes shut as Len shifted, moving his hand from Ray’s thigh to his waist, squeezing him a little in reassurance.

“It won’t.”

The moment broke when Mick let out a snort of a laugh, slapping his thigh for effect. Ray started at the sudden noise, Len tensing against him and only holding him tighter. Opening his eyes, Ray looked between Mick and Snart and realised with a drop of his stomach that he was in the midst of a silent conflict.

Len’s eyes were narrowed at Mick, his lips pinched tightly shut and his grip on Ray’s waist firm. Mick, on the other hand, had his head tipped to the side, his tongue jammed in his cheek as he made no effort to conceal his Cheshire grin.

“Well ain’t this just a stroll down lover’s lane,” Mick said, meeting Ray’s mortified glance with a wink, “what _happened_ last night, huh? D’ya fuck him, Lenny?”

From where Ray’s stomach had dropped, it turned over suddenly and his chest tightened.

“ _Jealous,_ Mick?” Len said with a smirk, his grip on Ray’s waist relentless.

Ray, for his part, was ready to curl up and die. Run, hide, change his name, find somewhere far away that he could spend the rest of his life working as a sheep herder in abject isolation. Anywhere other than _here_ , with Mick looking at him like _that_ and Len… well, maybe Len could come with him…

“We _kissed_!” Ray was almost surprised when the words left his mouth – quite of their own will – his voice cracking painfully at the same time. He felt the heat in his cheeks, sure as anything he was bright red.

“Knew you’d trade me in for a younger model first chance you got,” Mick was saying as he pushed himself off his chair with a groan, flashing Ray a toothy grin before plonking himself down heavily on the floor.

The tension broke as Len stifled a laugh, shaking his head and muttering something that sounded distinctly like ‘ _terrible_ ’ under his breath. Ray felt the air return to his lungs, able to breathe again, as relief washed over him. He wasn’t going to be caught in the middle of an impromptu fist fight between his two best friends, at least not _today_.

Mick made a grab for the scribbled on paper in the centre of the room, the crinkle of it audible and he brought it up to his face to squint at critically.  “So this is what we got on Lewis as is, right? More than enough to put him away, for a long time as well.”

“Yes, that’s what we _have_ ,” Snart brought his free hand up to twirl in the air in front of him, “ _circumstantially._ We know he’s _committed_ those crimes, broken his parole, _etcetera_ , but without the evidence we ain’t got _squat_ , to turn a phrase.”

“So we need to get him _caught_ , right? In the act? Hopefully with a big fat parole offense on top?” Ray was looking at Len with hopeful eyes.

“ _Bingo_. And luckily for you, _I_ had quite a lot of _time_ yesterday to come up with something.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mick was grinning with the look of a man who knew that if he was any closer he’d get a slap.

A picture of restraint, Len only rolled his eyes in Mick’s direction, choosing instead to surreptitiously adjust the hand on Ray’s waist so that the tips of his fingers skimmed the skin at the hem of Ray’s shirt. “Luckily for _you_ ,” he continued, “ _I_ know the next job dear old _dad_ is going to pull. In two weeks’ time, he’s got some small-potatoes B-and-E. Someone’s _dealer_ screwed him over on some product, and they want _payback_. Not a big job – grab the cash, grab the stash, maybe threaten him a little bit. Nothing too _heavy_ , so even with Lewis’ usual record, the job should go off without a _hitch_. Unless _we_ have something to do with it.”

“That’s _perfect!_ ” Ray burst out, slamming a fist down on his thigh with the force of it, “We just have to call the police!”

It was, by all accounts, the most brilliant plan that Ray had ever heard. It was simple, it was effective, it didn’t implicate any of them in any unlawful activity, and it was _sure_ to put Lewis Snart behind bars for at least long enough for Len to turn eighteen!

His elation was cut short, however, when Mick grunted another laugh, and Len made a muffled little half-snort beside him.

“ _Really,_ Raymond? Just call the cops?”

“Uh,” Ray faltered, “I mean. Why _wouldn’t_ that work?”

“Because no cop in Central City is going to give two shits about at B-and-E in _Leawood_ that’s nothing to do with the _stadium_. Hell, I doubt if cops even venture into the estates without packing riot gear and semi-automatics. Not something I’d expect _you_ to understand, Raymond. Your own little chunk of suburbia is all about keeping up with the Joneses, rather than keeping up with _parole_.”

“So it’s a bad neighbourhood…” Ray started picking at his thumbnail with his other hand, “and the cops won’t show-”

“Unless we give ‘em a reason to,” Mick finished for him with a grin, “a _real_ reason.”

“And when they eventually _turn up_ , which – I can almost guarantee you – will be _late_ , they need to find _Lewis_ not just _inside_ the house, but with his prints on _everything_. And when the police, eventually, get around to searching our humble little abode, they need to find _plans_ and _more_ prints. Enough evidence to stop Lewis’ sleazebag lawyer letting him slip through the system, _again_.”

“Shouldn’t be _too_ hard, then,” Mick grinned, “I mean, Lewis ain’t a _decent_ crook, but is he bad enough to leave that kinda proof behind?”

Len paused, tipping his head to the side and rubbing his thumb across his jaw. “… _No_. Unfortunately, he’s at least _proficient_ enough to wear _gloves_ on a job.”

“So what’s the plan, boss?”

“Simple. We break in _first_.”


	2. Si vis pacem, para bellum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The preparations for their break begin, and Ray does his best to ignore a _lot_ of things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The last chapter was mostly filler, so I present to you some _actual plot_! 
> 
> **Warning:** this chapter contains references to drugs, drug use and more details of the kind of abuse Len suffers at home.

“We do _what?!_!” Ray pulled himself away from Len’s side, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“We break in _first_ , Raymond,” Len said, using the same tone one might use to explain particle physics to a toddler, “and _plant evidence_. A quick smash and grab on our part, leaving behind a hammer or glasscutter-”

“Or _crowbar_ ,” Mick interrupted, nodding vehemently along with Len’s words.

“Yes, or _crowbar_ , with Lewis’ sticky prints all over them,” Snart twisted himself around to face Ray, using his now free hands to balance himself as he leant back.

Ray made another noise of protest. “But that’s…! That’s _illegal!_ We’d be committing _actual crimes!_ Breaking and entering! Destruction of property!”

“Theft,” Mick provided helpfully.

“ _Theft!_ Of what I _really_ don’t want to know, but, all the same, that’s not even to mention the _set up_. Planting evidence! You’re _framing_ your father!” By the end of it, Ray’s voiced was pitched so high Len was certain he was about to fold into hysterics. 

“Framing him for a crime that he’s _about_ to commit. You know, Raymond, I wouldn’t say that’s exactly all that bad-” Len tried, but was cut off again by another uncomfortably shrill tirade.

“All that _bad!?_ Len! It’s. A. _Crime_. If we do _that_ , how are we any better than Lewis!? Stooping to his level-”

“His _level?!_ ” Len’s eyes narrowed as he bit back, “his _level_ is far _worse_ than simple breaking and entering, _Raymond_. His _level_ includes such delights as _regularly_ beating his _kids._ That’s _me_ , by the way, and my _eight-year-old sister_ , if you’d _forgotten_. He’s a drunk, he’s _violent_ , he’s a piss-poor father in _every_ respect you can imagine, and he needs to be _put away_. I never said you _had_ to be a part of this, _Raymond_. So if you want to run along home to your comfortable little life with mommy and daddy and leave the _adults_ to _work_ , that’s _fine_ with me.”

Ray blanched. He’d overstepped. He knew he’d overstepped the moment the words had left his lips, but it was like he was sitting in the back row of a theatre, a bucket of popcorn perched on his knee, as he watched his mouth run off, carefree, into the distance, powerless to stop it.

Len was _furious_. His eyes narrowed, his mouth – usually so delicate – pulled up into a sneer, the venom in his gaze frothing and ready to unleash a second onslaught. Ray had seen Snart angry before – yesterday, even – but for the second time in as many months it was directed at _Ray_ , and he shrank.

“I…,” Ray dipped his head as a wave of guilt rushed though him, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think-”

“ _No_. You _didn’t_.”

Ray sunk lower, hoping the floorboards would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. He chanced a glance back up and winced – Len was visibly seething, staring a crater into the carpet by his feet.

There was a hand on his shoulder and Ray almost _jumped_ , so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he didn’t hear Mick’s approach. Kneeling next to him, Mick gave him a small, almost apologetic smile.

“Make some coffee, Haircut,” Mick hesitated for a second, then lowered his voice to what he was sure was a whisper, but sounded more like the light rumble of distant thunder, “I’ll talk to him. Don’t worry. He’s just stressed, is all.”

With a silent nod Ray pushed himself up and skirted around Len to the door.

 

* * *

 

When Ray pushed back into Mick’s bedroom, a tray of steaming mugs in hand, he was somewhat relieved to not have anything thrown at him. Len was sitting across the room, his back up against the wall and his knees drawn to his chest, a lit and half smoked roll-up pinched between his fingers.

The earthy-sweet smell that hit Ray as he crossed the threshold suggested that whatever Len was smoking, it wasn’t _entirely_ tobacco.

Mick lounged at an angle to Snart, weight on his elbow, and idly flicking his lighter open and shut, watching the flame dance. As the door clicked shut he tipped his head to Ray with a reassuring smile, pocketing his zippo and patting the floor next to him.

With a small, worried glance back, Ray made his way over, sitting down carefully and setting the tray on the floor. Gingerly, he picked up the mug closest to him and presented it to Len – a peace offering.

At last Snart’s eyes flicked up from the point on the floor he’d been staring at, meeting Ray’s and softening, just a little. He shifted just enough to flick the ash from the end of his cigarette into the large glass ashtray Mick must have produced from _somewhere_ , and took the mug from Ray, their fingers brushing over the handle.

“I’m sorry,” Ray said again, breaking the silence, as Len brought the mug to his lips, “I really am. I didn’t think about what I was _saying_. I just, I’ve never done anything like this before, and I got _scared_. Just from the thought of it, I know, but I-”

“ _Raymond_ ,” Len levelled a cool yet not uncaring look at him, “ _please_. I blew up. That wasn’t _fair_ of me. But, and you have to understand this, just because you’re _here_ that doesn’t mean you have to _participate_. I’m – _we’re_ – not expecting you to do anything you’re uncomfortable with.”

“Wow. I mean, that’s…” Ray searched Len’s eyes, “That’s really great. Of you. But, I _want_ to help. That’s what I was going to say. I freaked out, maybe because it’s out of my comfort zone, but. You’re _right_ , Len. We need to do whatever it takes to make sure that... that _bastard_ is put away. And I want to help, legal or _not_.” Ray said the last part with _conviction_ , folding his arms and setting his gaze in what he hoped was akin to a muscled action movie star about to take on a mission.

What he achieved, however, was more ‘hang in there, kitty’ than Schwarzenegger, but it didn’t matter. It seemed to have the desired effect.

Len _smiled_ , a hint of mischief creeping into his eyes as he took a _long_ drag of his spliff, holding his breath as he held it out to the side. Mick, diligently, picked it out his hand, whilst Len held Ray’s gaze for a second longer than was comfortable and _exhaled_.

“Then it’s a _date_. Welcome aboard, Raymond.”

Ray beamed, then faltered. “I uh- there is _one_ thing…”

“Oh?” Snart arched an eyebrow.

“The uh, the _break in_. I’m not saying I _doubt_ your… skillset,” Ray gestured between Len and Mick a little weakly, “but are you _sure_ you know what you’re doing?”

“ _Raymond,”_ Len started, but was quickly cut off by a guffaw, and an accompanying puff of smoke, from Mick.

“Does he know what he’s _doing?_ ” Mick shook his head, a grin plastered across his face, “hell, I don’t think there’s a security system around that Lenny couldn’t get past. ‘cept maybe something military, but they got _guns_ so, they got the natural advantage anyway.”

“I’m flattered, Mick, really, but I’m not sure that’s _quite_ true.”

“Sure it is! Whatever this dealer’s got rigged up is gonna be a breeze,” Mick looked to Ray with – somehow – a wider grin, “Snart’s a _pro_. Way better his daddy, though he’d never admit it.”

Ray looked at Len with wide eyes. “You… you _are?_ ”

“I wouldn’t say _pro_ , exactly. _Experienced_ , yes. But that doesn’t mean I don’t have my _limits,_ ” Len tilted his head to the side and gave Ray a quizzical look, “what’s the matter, Raymond? Not put two and two together yet?”

“Well, I- I mean… I didn’t _expect…_ ”

“ _Raymond_ ,” Len shifted, finally unfolding his legs from his chest to stick them out into the middle of the room, “what do you think I was in _juvie_ for _? Shoplifting?_ ”

Ray faltered again, looking hastily back to Mick for reassurance, and found exactly _none_. “… _maybe?_ ”

With a sigh Len almost snatched the blunt from Mick’s outstretched arm, flicking off the ash, “Dad used to take me on _jobs_ as a kid. Even before Lisa was born. I was small, could fit into air vents and crawl spaces he couldn’t, reach wires and fuse boxes and _cameras_.

“He still does, to an extent,” Len continued, “though not so much _these_ days. Prefers me to look over his plans, his _numbers,_ before anything big. Likes me to give my two cents, make necessary changes where’s he’s fucked up his calculations or not worked in enough time for a getaway.

“Problem is, he doesn’t always _listen_. If getting the whole crew away safe means leaving too _early_ , he won’t buy into it. Much prefer to get his hands on as much loot as he can, and after that it’s every man for himself. Even if it’s your own _son_.”

Ray’s mouth was open, his eyebrows high, as he gave Snart a look of abject _horror._ Unperturbed, Len took another drag.

“Naturally, when I get picked up by the cops it’s _my_ fault, not _his_. So suffice to say he hasn’t let me come along for the ride since my last stint _inside,”_ Len pursed his lips and blew out the smoke in a steady stream, “I’m much better use to him _elsewhere_. I can do the housework, keep on top of the _bills_ , look after _Lisa_ ,” he paused long enough to shove the roll-up back between his teeth, “ _entertain_ his _friends_.”

Len _spat_ the last part with renewed venom, tipping his head back against the wall and drawing in a long breath. Ray shot Mick another glance, but he was maintaining steady eye contact with Len’s boot, his fists clenched at his sides.

That was – well. It was certainly more information than Ray was expecting. In the space twelve hours, Ray had learnt much more about Leonard Snart than he had in the last four months. And whilst he was ever interested to get know his friends better, Len’s story wasn’t exactly the kind of thing you’d chat about over coffee and pancakes in a diner. His mother, his father, the _crime_ he’d been involved in at such a young age, the _responsibility_ he must feel toward his sister… not to mention that last part. _Entertaining_ Lewis’ friends. Ray swallowed. He could guess what that might involve.

“If this is gonna work,” Mick’s voice was low when he spoke, his gaze unwavering, “we ain’t got room for fuck ups. If this don’t go down the way we want it, we’re _screwed._ We ain’t got another chance.”

“ _Agreed_ ,” Len said after a pause, blowing smoke up into the air above him, “the margins for error will be _small_. If we get caught, or if Lewis _doesn’t_ …” he trailed off.

“So, where do we start?” Ray drew himself up, setting his jaw.

“We start where we start with any good heist. _Recon."_

 

* * *

 

With two weeks until the break, life suddenly got very busy for Ray Palmer. Len was in charge, naturally, drawing up timetables and schedules and assigning tasks to Mick and Ray where he could. The rest of Saturday was spent at Mick’s, Lisa enjoying the company of the three of them while they tried to come up with a plan of attack.

Len spent at least an hour on the phone, sitting in hallway and twisting the handset’s spiral cord round his fingers in a variety of new and interesting patterns, nodding away and forcing a smile. The call went on _so_ long that Ray was sent scurrying to the kitchen to retrieve the half-remembered chicken sandwiches when Len stuck his head round the living room door, the chunky beige plastic base of the telephone under one arm, the handset in the other and the wire connecting the base to the wall almost pulled tight as Len motioned to his stomach and then his mouth with a slightly pained expression.

“Grandpa Snart can talk the ass off a donkey,” Mick explained when Ray handed him a somewhat squashed cellophane-wrapped package.

By the time the sun started sinking below the horizon, and the last bus back to Ray’s neighbourhood was due, they had a _plan_. Something solid and concrete they could follow over the next weeks to gather as much information as possible.

Ray had to go home, to save worrying his parents, but Lisa already had a bed set up in the living, and Len preferred to stay with her, much to Lisa’s delight and Ray’s quiet dismay. But as Ray was zipping up his jacket, Len cornered him at the door, Len’s hand on the latch as if to say ‘no, not yet’. And the grin on his face was making Ray _giddy_.

Len had become more animated as the day progressed, the more intricate the plans becoming, the more solid the idea, the more Leonard was obviously enjoying himself. Admittedly, this also correlated with the amount of _pot_ smoked, but as Ray well knew, _correlation does not mean causation_ , so he stopped himself from making assumptions.

Len’s hand was at his arm, and before Ray knew it he was leaning in, kissing him with vigour. Open mouthed, Ray exhaled through his nose as Len’s tongue met his own, licking over his lips and into his mouth. A moment later and two fingers hooked into the waistband of Ray’s jeans, and Len was pulling away, running his tongue over his bottom lip and bundling Ray out of the door.

“Don’t miss your _bus_ , Raymond. I’ll see you _tomorrow_.”

Sunday, of course, was the first day of _implementation._ The beginning of the physical prep. Gathering tools, finalising their rotas, ensuring each of them knew exactly where they were supposed to be and when.

Daytimes were reserved for school – their attendance at most of their lessons of the upmost importance to keep up appearances. The school ringing home to ask where any of them were would only raise suspicion, and they needed to keep this low-key. Ray, of course, still made best efforts to learn. (Their finals _were_ in a few months, after all.) He made notes and kept up with homework where he could, but where he’d have been tutoring Len or working on extra-credit projects he was now neck deep in notebooks full of jotted numbers in Leonard’s spidery scrawl.

The evenings, where these jottings came from, were long and lonely and _cold_. Surveillance, Ray discovered, was not _nearly_ as fun as the movies made it out to be. Armed with a pair of birdwatching binoculars, a memo pad and a biro, the three boys took it in turns to watch the dealer’s house and the surrounding area, noting down the times he left and returned, and anything else that might be of use.

For Ray, this was easier said than done. Both Mick and Len had motorbikes – whether or not they had _licences_ was another matter – but Ray himself was limited to public transport and his modified Schwinn _Stingray_ chopper-style bicycle (that his brother had _pleaded_ for many Christmases ago and had since abandoned on receipt of his Hutch _Pro Racer_ the previous year). As a result, he was mostly on _Lisa_ duty.

Reluctant to let his sister anywhere near Lewis, Leonard had conversed at _length_ with his grandfather and come to an arrangement. So long as Len was there to take her to school every morning, and pick her up in the afternoon, Grandpa Snart was more than happy to play host. He knew as well as anyone the kind of man Lewis was, and doted mercilessly on his grandchildren as a result. But, his mobility wasn’t what it was, and there were only so many things to think up to entertain an eight-year-old when your television is still in black and white, so it fell to Mick, Len and mostly _Ray_ to keep her happy. And Lisa Snart wasn’t a girl to turn down so many trips to the park and _ice cream cones_.

Unfortunately, keeping Lisa away from Lewis meant that Len himself had to take the brunt of his father’s frustrations. Early Monday morning, after dropping Lisa at breakfast club at school, Len finally bit the bullet and returned to the Snart family home. Ray had pleaded with him not to, but Len had silenced him with a hand wave and a sigh.

“But surely you can just say you’re at your Grandpa’s too!” Ray had tried to continue, but was met with a stony glare.

“Lewis isn’t going to be _happy_ that Lisa isn’t at _home_ , and my being there may be the only catharsis he can get outside of a bottle. Better me there and Lisa safe than risk him turning up unannounced to drag us _both_ away. I’ll just tell him that the school are getting worried about her, and I thought it best to let Gramps spend some quality time for a while. That way _everyone_ is happy.

“And anyway, at least if I’m _there_ I can keep up my _usual_ duties – cooking, cleaning, grocery runs. _That_ way Lewis won’t smell a rat. And when his _crew_ is around I’m sure they won’t be shy to talk over their _plan_ while I’m around making use of my _pretty face_.”

Ray wanted to object. He wanted to bar the door; stop Len going and putting himself in that position, in that _danger_ , but even Mick – while looming and thunderous – was hanging back. It was _true_. They needed as much information about Lewis’ plan as _possible,_ if they were to get their timings right. And for that they needed an ear on the inside, and Len was the _only_ candidate.

 

* * *

 

The week passed slowly, painfully so, and Len became quieter each day. He was late to school more often than not and by Thursday he was barely making it to third period. The dark circles under his eyes were growing, too, and Ray found him napping Friday lunchtime, his arms curled protectively around his notebooks.

The weekend was a flurry of activity. All hands on deck for night-time surveillance, with Lisa packed off to a friend’s house for a slumber party.

Len had picked out the most perfect vantage point. The mark’s house was on the corner of his street, an overgrown verge almost opposite. Mick had taken a machete ( _overkill_ , Ray thought) to the foliage to clear them out a nice little hide that was near invisible from the street. And, most importantly, it was _elevated_. From within the shrubs, an onlooker could see not only the front door of the dealer’s house, but most of the back yard, too, _and_ it had a sightline down the main road. A _perfect_ lookout. On the other side of the hedges was a public walkway that lead, eventually, to a by-way, with a payphone down the way. Mick and Len had stowed their bikes on that side, though covered in a tarp and stuck behind more bushes, to stop any passers-by getting curious. Or, worse, making off with their rides.

It was late, and Ray was lying on his belly, binoculars up and pointed at the dealer’s window, while Len sat cross-legged beside him, one hand resting on the small of Ray’s back.

The time they’d had to spend alone together since the night at Ray’s had been brief, but worthwhile. No more long making out sessions, sure, but other things. Little things. Gentle touches, casual glances, invasion of the personal space bubble that Len kept vigilantly around himself. Ray enjoyed the same privileges as Mick when it came to that; able now to touch Len without prompting, or Len instigating. Sure, they’d kissed, too. But Len was always the instigator, there, pulling Ray off to the side quietly or pressing his lips to his neck when he was sure no-one was around. Ray enjoyed this new side of Snart he was privy to, and did his best to ignore the new patch-work of bruising that seemed to mottle Len’s skin where he could see it.

Len didn’t mention it, so neither did Ray.

The sound of heavy footsteps behind them and Mick was coming out of the shadows, grinning despite his heaving chest.

“You were right, Lenny. 11:34, on the dot.”

“What?” Ray twisted around, propping himself up on one hand.

“That’s every night this week,” Len scribbled a note onto a page and ruled it off with a thin line of ink, “give or take. 11:35 on Tuesday, 11:33 on Friday. Not bad. Not bad at _all_.”

With a satisfied huff, Mick hunkered down on Len’s other side.  Bringing a palm up to peak over his brow, shielding his eyes from the non-existent glare in the middle of the night, he looked across the street. “Any movement, boss?”

“None yet. But I’ve got a _feeling-_ ”

“I’m _sorry_ to bring it up again,” Ray interjected, trying for sarcasm but sounding actually, genuinely sorry instead, “but what exactly happens at 11:34, again?”

Len didn’t even look up from his jottings. “A _patrol car._ Passes the intersection to the freeway, has done every night this week. Comes around at 7:20, 5:58, 3:06, _etcetera_. All of which are _unusable_.”

Ray blinked. Snart shot him a look over the top of his pen.

“Response times in this neighbourhood are _abysmal_ , Raymond,” he said, “which, _ordinarily_ , would be a _delight_. _But_ , when we actually want the fuzz to _arrive_ , we don’t want to have to wait upwards of _ten minutes_ for them to get their asses here. Otherwise Lewis will be in the wind and all they’ll have is the physical evidence, which could take them _days_ to process and may even be chalked up as _circumstantial_. This way, as long as our _timings_ work out – which they _will_ – that police car will be on scene in one-hundred-eighty-two seconds from our phone call. And Lewis will be in _cuffs_ before he can _blink_.”

“That’s _amazing_ ,” Ray started, a grin slowly spreading across his face as he looked at Snart with wonder. He was about to continue; launch into any number of praises for Len’s _ingenious_ plan when a low rumble from Mick cut him off.  

“Mark’s mobile. And he’s brought Fido,” Mick reached into the back pocket of his jeans to pull out his own set of binoculars, focussing them in on the man and dog strolling through the half-broken gate at the end of his path.

Ray brought his back up, too, and pulled a face. Even from this distance, he could tell the dog was a pit bull type: long legs, squareish head, bulky, muscular shoulders. From its gaping maw its tongue lolled, panting, as it keened and pulled on its leash.

“That looks _vicious!_ ” Ray exclaimed, screwing his face up before speaking again, his voice a litte feebler, “he does, uh, take the dog out with him all the time, right?”

Still engrossed in his numbers, Len shook his head, flipping to another page. “Our mark leaves with the dog forty-eight percent of the time. The other half, Fido’s left in the _yard_. Which _is,_ unfortunately, our best entry point. No security light, no key access onto the property. The alarm system’s fuse box is with the rest of the house’s, which in a property this age is in a nice little box just inside the back door. All I’ll need to do is pick the lock, pull out the fuse before the alarm sounds. Simple.”

“The dog _is_ chained up...? He leaves it _chained up_ in the yard, right?” Ray sounded hopeful, but in the way a child asking its parent if it could stay up late after misbehaving is hopeful. With force.

“Nope,” Mick grinned across at him, “ _Free range_. But don’t worry, Boy Scout, we’ll handle it.” Mick set a hand down softly on Len’s shoulder, “We should move.”

With a nod, Len flipped his book closed and stowed it in the black backpack by his knees. He pulled open the main zipper and dove inside, pulling out a series of black bundles. He split the first bundle apart and handed it to Mick, who split it again.

In sudden wonder, Ray realised that they were _gloves_. Thin, black gloves, that both Mick and Len were smoothly pulling on. Snart handed Mick another bundle, which he shook out and pulled on over his head – a _balaclava_.

“Wait. _Wait_. I thought we weren’t breaking in until next week!” Ray couldn’t hide the note of panic in his voice as Snart handed him a smallish black device with a _buttons_ and a snubby, extendable aerial on one end.

“We _aren’t_. Call this a _trial_ run. I want to have a look around inside, really case the place. Next week is going to be _tight_ , so I’ll need to know _exactly_ where our mark keeps his cash. And anyway,” Len grinned as he pulled out _another_ clunky, black square, dipping his head so he could hang it around his neck, “the more we can incriminate Lewis the better.”

“What do you mean?” in the darkness, Ray really was having trouble with his object recognition, but it wasn’t until Len turned slightly and the beam of a distant streetlight glinted across his chest, that Ray saw the _lens_. Not only was Snart going to break into the dealer’s house _tonight_ , he was going to take _pictures_.

“It’s a polaroid,” Len offered, seeing Ray’s alarm, “I snap a few shots of the place while we’re in there, I’m _sure_ I get Lewis’ prints on them in the next few days. Then, when they get around to searching the place, the cops’ll have everything they need to prove that it was _premeditated_. Not just an opportunistic smash and grab, which I’m _sure_ will be Lewis’ first call for defence.”

“So what do you want _me_ to do?” Ray was proffering the object in his hand – a _walkie-talkie_ his brain latently filled in – like a conductor’s baton.  

“Keep a look out. Tell us to scram if our dealer friend comes home early.”

Ray nodded uselessly, his grip tight on the walkie-talkie as Len pulled on his own hood and set off through the shrubbery, Mick close behind.

If he hadn’t known what he’d been looking for, Ray was certain he would have missed the movements of the two black shapes, keeping low, slinking across the street, melding with the shadows of parked cars and hedges.

Ray blinked and the fence wobbled – though that could easily have been mistaken for the wind – as Len and Mick let themselves into the back yard, their formless silhouettes skirting the very edges of the lawn. A breath later and they were at the back door; a subtle motion of Len’s hand and the lock was overcome, and they were slipping inside.

Ray hadn’t realised he’d been holding his breath until he caught the movement in the corner of his eyes – back door opening – and he exhaled. Relief washed over him in a wave. Out slunk the figures, the bigger of the two – Mick – darting left while the smaller – Snart – darted right. Once again the gate open and shut in a beat and Ray lost his friends to the darkness, until he heard the trampling of boots on loose soil and grinned.

Mick pulled off his mask, matching Ray’s grin with his own and slapping Len on the back triumphantly. 

“Not a bad little break. Guy’s got a safe, but it ain’t much more than a fancy lock-box. Got twelve-hundred dollars in petty cash, by the looks, then another four grand wrapped up nice and neat – bet you anything that’s going back to his supplier. Product wise, it’s what you’d expect,” Mick counted off on his fingers.  

Ray, who was entirely unsure what to expect a dealer to have around his home, nodded along regardless.

“Hard stuff locked up tight, stock under the floorboards, weighed out little baggies all lined up neat. Lotsa dope. Swear he keeps that whole place hotboxed to shit,” Mick said with an almost wistful sigh.

Snart, meanwhile, was packing the camera and photographs carefully back into his bag. In one fluid motion he stood, shouldering the backpack and peeling off his mask. In the tight black gear that hugged his form to a T, his hair ruffled, a few misplaced curls escaping onto his forehead, and a shit-eating grin across his face like he’d never had more fun in his life than _right then_ , Leonard Snart was the hottest thing Ray had ever set eyes on.

It must have been the adrenaline, it _must have_ , because the moment Ray was on his feet he was at Len’s front, his arms around Len’s waist. Len was pulling him close, his eyes glinting in the half-light as he pressed his mouth to Ray’s throat. Ray froze, at first, then _melted_ as Len’s tongue teased up the line of his carotid.

Ray’s eyes flickered, unfocused, then refocused with a start when Len pulled his mouth away and tugged their hips together by Ray’s belt loops. Snart was looking at him like he could eat him up, and Ray’s brain was busy trying to keep him upright.

Over Len’s shoulder, Mick had his arms folded across his chest and was pointedly looking away.

Ray felt the heat in his cheeks as Mick looked up, catching him dead in the eye. With a smirk, he shook his head and started across to where they’d parked the bikes, passing the pair just close enough to let his hand connect with Snart’s ass with an audible _slap_.

“He’s riding pillion with you, Lenny. I ain’t got the patience for a twenty-minute ride with _that_ sticking into my back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter three should be along in the next week! Thank you all for your love and comments, they're really appreciated <3


	3. Sins of the Father

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night of the break-in is upon us! And we get a glimpse into life at the Snart household.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this took quite a while to write out, as it's pretty much eight thousand words. A chapter from Len's perspective.  
>  **Warning:** This chapter contains references to _underage sex_ , _underage drinking_ , smoking, child abuse, sexual abuse and prostitution, and panic attacks.

Riding the high of their successful break, Mick, Len and Ray threw themselves into preparation with renewed vigour.

With less than a week to go before Lewis and his crew attempted their own smash and grab, there was still much to do to ensure everything went _smoothly_. A perfect frame, Len insisted, would leave Lewis strung up for the police, the smoking gun in hand and indisputable evidence practically _gift-wrapped._

For starters, they already had the _photographs_. Len packed them and the camera separately, wrapped in a soft cloth and plastic, ensuring that they stayed as pristine as the day they were taken. He took them out only once, to check they’d developed fully, the risk of leaving a fingerprint or other residue too great for regular handling. No, they’d only be removed when the time was _right_.

Len _also_ needed to procure a heavy, _bludgeoning_ object. Property destruction, like everything else in life, needed to be approached with the right tools – preferably those covered in Lewis Snart’s prints.  

And, on top of all _that_ , Len had yet to discover the finer details of Lewis’ own break.

As confident as he’d been to Mick, and to _Ray_ especially, Len had the barest few scraps of information. He knew it was happening, but beyond that… Len wasn’t even sure _who_ was involved, let alone _where_. He had the address, he had the _day,_ but that was precious little. There were too many variables. For his own plans to flow as seamlessly as he needed them to be, he needed _more_.

But he had time. _Days_ , even. And the more time he spent at home the better his chances of making that crucial discovery.

A week without Lisa and Lewis was beginning to settle again; beginning to look at Len like he was his son, again. His anger was dispersing; there wasn’t a fist raised every time he was in sight. Just as long as Len stayed quiet and kept his mouth _shut_.

Except, of course, when he was told to open it.

It was Tuesday evening, and Leonard, playing the diligent son, was standing in line at the corner store a few blocks from home. The owner of the little 7/11 was uncomfortably willing to look the other way whenever Len showed up, with a dogged regularity, on _booze_ runs. Lewis Snart _was_ a valued customer, after all, and perhaps _known_ for his short temper; likely to knock seven bales out of his son if he returned empty handed.

For Len, this also provided prime opportunity to catch Ray every evening, making sure that Lisa was home safe and tucked up in bed.

Pushing open the glass door and hearing the bell tinkle as he stepped out into the street, six pack of beers under one arm and a fresh pack of smokes in the other, Len clocked the gangly figure Ray cut in the waning light.

Ray had his bike propped up against the wall, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, and a damned _lollipop stick_ hanging out of his mouth. He might have even looked _cool_ if he changed out the beige corduroys for acid washed jeans.

Ray caught his eye _beamed,_ pulling the lolly stick out of his mouth in the process.

Checking over his shoulder, Len tucked the smokes into his jacket and caught Ray’s hip with the same hand, leaning in to kiss him. Though brief, Len could taste the strawberry on his lips, and smell the sweetness on his breath when he sighed – as he always did after a kiss – like Len could suck the air from his lungs with the smallest of touches.

These moments, caught in the in-between when time seemed to hang still in the air like a breath on a winter morning, were a blessing. They were seconds of perfection woven through all the tension and the heartache and the pain.

But they couldn’t last.

They’d talk, Ray about Lisa and Len about his father. Len pressing for the smallest details of Lisa’s day, while glossing broadly over those he’d given.

And then Len would look at his watch, see that he’d been out almost too long and he’d curse. He’d let himself steal another kiss, his eyes flickering shut to savour every ounce of it.

And then, without turning back, he’d be back off down the street, walking the few blocks home, the vestiges of strawberry tarrying on his lips.

Today, however, there were voices from the den when Len leaned on the worm-ridden wood of his front door; swinging it open and bringing with it the peroxide like tinge of lit methamphetamine. Grimacing, Len shut the door with his hip, jamming the beers back under his arm.

With a soft tug he pulled one bottle from the cardboard and, taking a deep breath, strolled as nonchalantly as he could manage into the living room. Len twisted off the bottle cap and pressed the beer into his father’s waiting hand, stepping back to stand in feigned reverence, waiting for instruction.

Lewis, however, took a swig from the bottle, passed it into his left hand and planted his right firmly on Len’s shoulder, dragging him forward with a grin.

“My _boy_! _Just_ in time,” Lewis said, his voice _oozing_ conceit.

Len did his best not to wince, instead pulling his shoulders back and setting his jaw.

_He must not look weak._

There were three other men in the room, all of whom he recognised, at least vaguely. He’d seen them at various points over the last few years, in and out of the house, at bars and meets and _jobs_. They were his father’s _boys_ , his _crew_.

Two of them sat spread across the battered old couch, one in camo pants and combat boots, a glass pipe in one hand and a lighter perched on his knee. The other man wore a baseball cap tipped low over his eyes, whilst the third – a beanie hat pushed back on his forehead and a gold chain at his throat – stood fidgeting in the corner.  

Combat-Boots, Len noticed with a sinking realisation, hadn’t taken his eyes _off_ him since he’d stepped into the room. His gaze flicked over Len from the scuffing on his boots to Lewis’ firm grip on his shoulder to his _face_. He lingered there – on his eyes, his jaw, his _lips_ – for a second too long, with a twist of a cruel smile and a dark flash of his eyes. A look that Len was _all_ too familiar with.

When he was younger Len would have shrunk back, casting his gaze down and making himself as unnoticeable, as _small_ and insignificant as he knew how.

But now…

 _He must **not** look weak_.

 _Now_ Len pushed his shoulders back and levelled his jaw, looking Combats dead in the eye. Even letting his mouth twitch into a sneer of disgust before speaking, his voice steeled.

“In time for _what_?”

Lewis laughed, his hand smacking Len’s shoulder in a show of comradery, “To make me _proud_ , boy.”

Len opened his mouth again, but no sound came. Instead, a surge of traitorous warmth spread through from his belly upward. Vagrant hope mixed with longing mixed with that old subservient devotion, as even now, even after _everything_ , he still wanted to _please_ his father. Or, a part of him did; seeking _praise_ , seeking _validation_.

It made him feel _sick_.

“Me and the boys have a little _job_ Friday night, _don’t_ we?” Lewis continued, his grip re-tightening on Len’s shoulder, “nothin’ special. Nothin’ we can’t _handle,_ ” Lewis paused as the three men all nodded their agreement, “But you already _know_ that, son. Or you _should_ , if you got two working _ears_. You been _listening_ , boy?”

“ _Yes_ , Sir,” he was too quick to answer and Len cursed his vocal cords, knowing exactly how _needy_ , how _eager_ he must sound. It was _pathetic._

“ _Good boy_ ,” Lewis shook Len’s shoulder, “you’re _learning,_ at last. Now, I’m gonna let you in on a little _something_ , Lenny, ‘cause I know you _are_ a good boy, underneath that little John Travolta getup you got going on there,” Lewis’ grin was audible, and was matched by the snickers from his crew, “it’s a _two part_ job, see. Ratty over there – you know Ratty, don’t you, son?”

Len nodded, and Combats wiggled his fingers at Len with a mocking smile. Yes, Len knew Ratty. Ratty had been on Lewis’ crew a few times. He’d been there on the _last_ job he’d run with Lewis, when his father had cut and run without him. Ratty got away clean, just like everyone else. Except _Len_.

“Ratty’s _supplier_ ripped him off, see. Gave him a bad batch, got him in some serious _shit_ with some _clientele_. Now Ratty knows this guy ain’t an _honest_ type. He tried to tell him, ‘course, m _an to man_ that his batch was _bull_. But the guy blew him off, said he shouldn’t be selling it on.

“Ratty’s a long-time customer, see, gets a special price. Thought he could make a dime on the side. Reasonable enough – man’s gotta _eat_. But people ain’t happy. And _we,_ ” Lewis made a sweeping gesture to the room with his beer bottle, “gotta send a _message_. Low-down, right. We don’t wanna get on the tits of the guys on top, the _mobsters_. Do we boys? No, we gotta send a message _local._ ”

Lewis was never short of words, especially when he knew he hadn’t yet shown his hand. As in all things, Lewis Snart liked to have the power play; the rest of the room was playing with a juiced deck and he had all the aces.

But Len nodded anyway, listening intently, his lips tight.

“We’re gonna smash up his place, Lenny, and we’re gonna smash up his _face_ , too. Rough him up, see, and take what’s ours _back_ ,” Lewis dipped his head down, his mouth so close that Len could feel his stinking breath against his cheek, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, “you _understand me_ , boy?”

Swallowing, Len nodded once. “I-” he started, but was very slow to pick his next words, “I don’t see where _I_ come into this.”

“C’mon son, engage those _brain cells_ you’re supposed to have knocking around in there. I know how much you love your _numbers_. Always counting the seconds, ain’t ya? Making sure everything works out _just so_. This job’s all about that _timing_ ,” Lewis straightened again, addressing the room, “We gotta draw him out, right? We can’t just beat on him in his own home. He’s got the, what’dya call it? _Natural advantage_. Home turf.”

It was almost a gargantuan effort to keep the smile from his face as the cogs in Len’s head _whirred_ , piecing together everything his father had said, meshing it with what he already knew. Hell, this was _perfect. Beyond_ perfect. But Len kept his face trained. Playing dumb was always the safest bet.

“What do you want from _me,_ exactly?”

 “Draw us up one of those _plans_ of yours, Lenny. So that by the time this punk crawls back home with his tail between his legs, we’re long gone with cash in hand.  It works out then you can consider yourself _redeemed_ , boy. Might even let you get a _cut_. You think you can do that?”

Elation burned through Len like kerosene. This was it. This was _perfect_. This was everything he’d hoped for and _more_. He wasn’t only going to find _out_ about Lewis’ plan, he was going to _make it_.

“Of _course_ ,” Len kept his voice cold, but his heart leapt in his chest.

Within the week, Lewis was going to be behind bars. Lewis was _never_ going to touch his sister again. He’d have done it, he’d have _succeeded_. _His_ plan, _his_ ideas, and with his father walking blindly into _his_ trap.

It was that thought that caused the sudden surge of _joy_ , of _content_ , that rushed through him, Len told himself.

It wasn’t at _all_ to do with the _pride_ in his father’s voice when he slapped him firmly but without cruelty between the shoulder blades, and repeated, resoundingly, “ _Good boy.”_

Oh no, it _couldn’t_ be that.

 

* * *

 

Len spent much of that evening and the next cross-legged on his bedroom floor, paper spread out in front of him and the end of a pen jammed between his teeth. Finalising. He was _finalising._ And it felt _good_.

Synchronising Lewis’ plan with his own was not without its difficulties, but he managed. With the right pitch, he was able to convince his father that a small park ten minutes on foot from the mark’s house was the _ideal_ spot for a beat down.

“It’s _dark_ , secluded, away from the main roads and the cops won’t even _pass_ by. There might be a few gangbangers passing through at _most_.”

Len’s timings, however, Lewis was _not_ pleased with.

“It’s before midnight,” Lewis shook his head, his mouth pinched into a frown, “streetlights’ll still be on, people still awake. It’s _risky_ , boy.”

And for once, Lewis was _right_. It _was_ risky, almost _too_ risky. If it wasn’t for the patrol car, then Len would have displaced everything by an hour at the _least_. But, 11:34pm was their sweet spot. If there’d been another option, Len would have taken it, but there wasn’t. Choice was a luxury he did not have.

Excuses, falsified _reasoning_ , the highest possible class of bullshit Leonard Snart could weave together spilled forth. The confidence of the barefaced lie mixed with the desperation of circumstance came together in a blaggard’s serenade; the pièce de résistance of deceit.

By the end of his piece even Len himself was starting to believe that any other time would have been foolish – the dealer would have smelled a rat a mile off and bolted, coming back with the hounds of the mob to chase down double-crossing, double-dealing low-lives and scum.

 “Alright, son,” Lewis said at last, “I’m going to _trust_ you. But _mark_ me,” his voice dropped down low, the warning growl of the unbeaten fighting-dog eyeing up fresh meat, and his fingers dug fissures into Len’s arm, “if this doesn’t go _smooth –_ if there’s one _single_ little hiccough – you ain’t getting off so _easy_ this time. And neither will your bitch-sister. I know how much _you_ like turning tricks, _Nancy,_ but I ‘spect Lisa’ll fetch a pretty penny, too.”

Flecks of spit hit Len’s cheek, spewing forth from Lewis’ mouth with rancid breath as he leaned in close enough to _taste_ his son’s fear as a surge of terror ripped through him.

Len was paralysed; frozen to the spot as the blood drained from his face, an icy hand twisting a knot into his gut, the chill spreading through him like cold fire. The bite of his father’s grip receded, and Lewis withdrew, Len waiting until the last physical second to open his mouth to _breathe._

But it wasn’t enough. How could it be, with the thick fug of fear wrapping around him, _engulfing_ him, sucking the oxygen from the room and pinning down his ribs with a two-ton weight. His lungs weren’t filling, each breath fast and shallow and _useless_ ; a cold sweat pricking on his brow, his neck, his back.

He was losing control.

He was _helpless_.

He was _useless. Worthless. Incapable._

Len’s ears filled with static, an incessant buzzing, _fuzzing_ , passing down through his limbs in the wake of another chill. His palms clammy, his fingers tingling.

He couldn’t _breathe._

 _Lisa_. Lisa. His _sister._ He was _powerless_. He couldn’t _help_ her. Lewis was going to-

Len’s hands were _shaking_.

He couldn’t _save_ her.

His heart was hammering.

Lewis was going to-

His chest was tight, his ribs _aching_.

He _couldn’t_ _breathe._

Fists clenching thin air, Len stumbled back, his thighs hitting his mattress. He _dropped_ , his ass hitting the floor and his shoulders scraping the metal of the bedframe. The pain almost didn’t register.  

He was going to _fail_. He wasn’t _good enough_. He’d _never_ be good enough.

Sweat beaded on Len’s top lip, it pooled at the hollow of his chest, his shirt clinging to his back like a second skin.

Lisa wasn’t safe. She’d _never_ be safe.

 _He couldn’t breathe_.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t the first night Len hadn’t slept, and he doubted it would be the last, but when 3am rolled round and the deep, choking snores of a drunkard rattled through the house, Len knew that he had to act. And he had to act _now_.

Standing, Len first slipped on his work gloves, then caught the knob of the second drawer in his dresser between two fingers. Pulling it open, he dumped out the first layer of t-shirts and the glossy _Playboy_ he’d stuck between them. Out came two more layers of shirts before he hit the plywood false-bottom, hooking his pinky into the lip at the far corner. He lifted it slowly, revealing the shallow cavity below.

Where Mick shoved his porno-mags under his mattress and his drugs in his closet, Len preferred his own concealments to be much more _thorough_. The two well-thumbed and dog-eared copies of _Blueboy_ magazine took up most of the thin space, leaving enough gap for a 4”x6” cardboard sleeve with the faded red and yellow of the _Kodak_ logo.

Between gloved fingertips he removed this almost reverently, then turned it over and tipped the contents out in a stack into his hand.

Len allowed himself the briefest of moments to flick through the photographs, some shiny and bright, others tarnished, faded, _torn_. His mother smiled up at him in black and white on her wedding day, or with her arms around a grumpy toddler, or in hospital with another, _tiny_ baby, and then the three of them together, Lisa pulling at his mother’s hair and caught in a laugh. His mother looked thin, there, with Lisa in her arms, but Lisa’s own bright smile made the picture worth keeping.

Finally, Len came to his true goal. Tucked at the back were the polaroids, a black cloth and tight Saran wrap keeping them separate from the rest. Len tucked this package into his pocket and quickly replaced the contents of his cubby-hole, stacking his shirts in the draw and slipping the _Playboy_ back in the top. From the cover, _Vanity_ stared up at him, a silver necklace between her teeth and her gaze as sultry as the black lace at the curve of her bosom. The whole shot set her up to be tempting, _alluring._ Impassively, Len shut her back in the dark.

The camera was next. A large object not so easy to conceal, Len had left it in the bottom of his backpack, amid schoolbooks and pencils, though safely encased in its own wrappings. The camera itself was much easier to explain away if his father went digging: a loan from the school or stolen, it didn’t matter. Lewis would have brushed it off at best, or taken it to fence for himself, at worst.  

Next, Len drove his hand into the back of his closet, his fingers closing around a stout, heavy object wrapped in a cut-down tarp. Pulling it out with a satisfied grunt, Len slipped off the cable ties and unwrapped the plastic, taking the shaft of the crowbar in hand and testing its weight. He’d taken the thing from the endless piles of junk in their garage when Lewis had stepped out for an hour. It was rusting in places and the red-brown paint on the shaft was flecked, but there was enough left to get a decent print.

In stockinged feet, Len slipped out of his bedroom door and into the darkness of the hallway, then down the stairs, stepping neatly over the boards he knew to creak. A red-orange light, half muted, framed the entrance to the living room like the mouth of hell itself, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. With shallow breaths, the hairs on his arms pricking, Len stepped through.

A single lamp burned on the far side, illuminating the slumped figure of Lewis Snart, a half empty beer bottle in hand.

The room seemed to stretch as Len slunk forward, his socked feet soundless on the floorboards. Lewis’ snoring was arrhythmic. Long, loud and guttural followed by soft, gasping breaths then back again, his mouth open and his chin tucked to his chest. A line of drool ran down over his bottom lip, a damp patch forming at the neck of his stained wife-beater, while his arms jutted out to the sides, over the arms of the chair.

Here, _now_ , in this moment, Lewis was _weak_. _Vulnerable_. All it would take, Len thought, was a single hit. He could raise the crowbar high and bring it down on his father’s skull. In one, sweet moment it would all be over, and he’d never be able to touch his sister again.

Len’s hand tightened around the metal shaft, his bicep twitching. He allowed himself the fantasy, imagining the sound of metal cracking on bone, the stifled scream, the blood, and the _relief_ of it, before shaking his head.

That wasn’t the _plan_.

Instead, Len sidestepped and crouched down low, his face level with the dirty nails of Lewis’ right hand, curled around his beer bottle.

With the delicate touch and grace of a pickpocket, Len pinched the neck of the bottle and, sucking in a breath, twisted his wrists. The glass left Lewis’ hand and the metal of the crowbar entered in the same breath. Lewis’ fingers twitched instinctively in his sleep, a reflex grip. In another breath Len had switched the bottle and the bar back, satisfied enough. The prints wouldn’t be perfect, but there’d be partials, which – if all worked out – would be _enough_.

Keeping low, Len skirted around the front of the chair to where Lewis’ left arm lolled. He waited patiently for Lewis’ next raking snore to gently place the crowbar down, the muffled thud of metal-on-wood drowned out by the pneumatic drill in Lewis’ throat.

The camera, now. Len unwrapped it from its casings with care, presenting it with the gentlest touch to Lewis’ fingertips. A thumb print on the lens, nice and clear, and an index on the shutter-release.

 _Indisputable_.

There were six polaroid pictures in total. Windows, drugs, the front and back doors, anything that might pose useful for a plucky thief. With care and precision Len was able to press four of the six to Lewis’ thumb and forefinger in turn, creating a semblance of the ‘shake’ needed to develop them. Then Lewis’ hand _twitched_.

Lewis snorted, half-coughing in his sleep, and his arm swung off the rest, curling round and over the bulge of his stomach.

 _Shit_.

Len cursed silently. But four out of six was good enough. Better cut his losses now than risk palming his bottle away again and waking the bastard up. Gathering himself, Len stood slowly, picking the crowbar up in the same motion.

He didn’t let himself breathe until he was halfway up the stairs, the throaty rattles of his father’s snores behind him, unbroken.  

 

* * *

 

The next few days passed without incident, but the tension between the three boys was palpable. Fear, anxiety, nervous energy… _anticipation_.

It was written in the unspoken glances, in the little motions and movements between them all. Mick drumming his fingers on the lunch table, spacing off into the distance; Ray’s bottom lip chapped and cracked from biting, his hand brushing against Len’s as they walked, close, even in the busy school halls.

Len catalogued these habits unconsciously. He found himself _watching_ his friends’ every movement, internally marking their tiredness, or their bitten down nails, or how much – or little – they were eating. Each little detail, each little tick, all building up into a bigger picture as Len tried to gauge them. Where would they show weakness? Where would they be strong? This overactive _watchfulness_ , that was Len’s own nervous habit. That, and chain-smoking.  

He could see the glances Mick was giving him. Having known him now for almost three years, Mick was eerily in tune with him; palming him cigarettes before Len knew he needed one, bringing him coffee with a shot of jack the mornings Len hadn’t slept. It was almost _innate_. And Len was grateful for it.

In contrast, Raymond was, well, _Raymond_. It wasn’t that he was doing anything _wrong_ , exactly. Quite the opposite – he was proving himself to be resourceful, his quick thinking matching Len’s to a T, though perhaps hindered by inexperience. He was cheerful, he was _optimistic_ , even in the direst of circumstance. He was _cute,_ and forthcoming with affection. Which Len _enjoyed_ , certainly.

But… Ray didn’t _get_ him. Not in the same way Mick did. He was always a little left of centre, where Mick struck the bullseye with his eyes shut.

With the job, the double cross, the _stakes_ , all baring down on him, Raymond’s particular brand of cheery optimism and doe-eyed ardour was _nice_ , but it wasn’t what Len _needed_.

Under the pretence of making last-minute checks, Len went with Mick to their lookout post on Thursday night. Well, it was a _half_ -truth. Len sat for an hour, checking and rechecking his measurements, the streetlight positioning, the distance between their hide and the payphone, scribbling down new next to old in his notebook.

There were no discrepancies.

And when his eyes weren’t on his notes, they were on _Mick_.

Mick sat cross-legged, binoculars up, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he tracked the movement behind the mark’s windows. Len watched him silently, his eyes tracing up from Mick’s wrists to the bulge of his biceps to the line of his neck, then _down_. Over Mick’s chest, his stomach, his _thighs_ …

Everything he remembered about Mick from juvie. How he looked, felt, _tasted_ …

“C’mon, boss, if you keep lookin’ at me like that I ain’t gonna be able to ride home without ropin’ the pony first,” Mick broke him out of his trance with a grin, his head cocked to the side.

If Len had been more like Ray, he mused, he’d have been _mortified_ that Mick caught him ogling. But he _wasn’t_ anything like Ray, which was almost the _problem_. Shame was something that he’d left behind that first day in juvie, when Mick had pulled his beat-ass up off the ground, dusted him down, and shoved him into the showers.

Instead, Len shook his head with a smirk of his own and ran a hand through his hair, “ _Alright_ , but if you leave any DNA behind you’ll _screw_ this for _all_ of us.”

“You offering to suck me off instead?” Mick held his palms up in the air in mock-acceptance, “‘Cause I ain’t sayin’ _no_ if you’re putting it on the table.”

“You _wish_ ,” Len cut back, but he was up on his knees, grinning and closing the distance between them.

“You _bet_ ,” Mick stuck his tongue in his cheek, “but I ‘spose I gotta be considerate to Ray. After all, _he_ uses that mouth, _too_.”

“ _Raymond_ isn’t here,” Len was kneeling in front of Mick now, not even two inches between them; so close he felt Mick’s breath on his face as he exhaled bodily.

“What is this? You testing my self-control?” Mick’s eyes were narrowed, his brow creasing.

 “What if it _is_?”

“Then you know I’m gonna _fail_ ,” Mick teased his bottom lip between his teeth as his hands went to Len’s waist. His fingertips brushed him first, gently, testing the water. When Len didn’t flinch, didn’t pull away, Mick pressed in his palms.

Len swallowed, but said nothing, Mick’s hands on him spreading warmth into his skin like he’d been frozen for days.

Instead, Len laced his fingers behind Mick’s neck, pulling himself a fraction closer.

“I hate you,” Mick lied earnestly, but Snart cut him off with a kiss. 

 

* * *

 

Len hadn’t meant to spend the night at Mick’s. He’d _meant_ to drop off his gear, deposit the crowbar – re-wrapped in its protective tarp – and head home. His father might have wanted to make adjustments, there might have been a new player introduced at the last second, another crucial variable. Len _should_ have gone home, to keep on top of his game, glean every last detail that he could.

But Mick’s mouth was at his throat, his hands at his chest, under his shirt, as he pulled him close.

Len never got around to leaving.

Not until the shrill beep of his watch woke him at him at 6am, sharp, and he’d groggily untangled himself from Mick’s arms. Pulling on his jeans, skipping breakfast and coffee, he’d ridden out across town to take Lisa to school.

It was Friday. _Friday_. In a matter of _hours,_ it’d all be over, with Lewis in handcuffs and the last two weeks finally behind them.

Len would be able to _sleep_ , at last. Able to _breathe,_ without the ever present threat of his father. He’d be _free_ , spending each and every second he could with the people that meant the most to him in the world. With Lisa, with Mick, with _Ray._ With the stress of the job gone, Len realised, he’d be able to spend more time with _Ray_.

 _Shit_.

Exclusivity isn’t something he’d brought up with Raymond, but then again, there wasn’t exactly much _time_ to have brought anything up _at all_. They’d all been too busy _scheming_ and _planning_ to have really talked _feelings_ , let alone _boundaries_. Hell, Snart wasn’t even sure what Raymond _wanted_ from him, from their… _whatever_ it was they had. Nothing was _defined_.

_Then it’s not really cheating, is it?_

A stray thought. Len pushed it down. He’d deal with the fallout _tomorrow_ , after this was _done_ , when he told Ray-

 _If_ he told Ray.

 _Fuck_.

He needed a _smoke_.

Raymond, oh _Raymond_ , with his big brown eyes and his _smile_ and the way he drew himself up when he was determined, the way he looked at you with _endless_ trust…

Raymond, who was sitting atop the brick wall outside the school gates, swinging his legs, and chatting to Mick. Raymond, who’s face lit up like a fucking _Christmas tree_ when he saw Len approaching, jumping down and pressing a steaming thermos into Len’s hand.

“Coffee!” Ray practically _chirped_ , “Mick said you might need some!”

Len blinked. “Mick was _right_ ,” he muttered, avoiding Ray’s eyes and bringing the thermos to his lips. He drank, deeply, with an almost disembodied satisfaction, like he was watching someone else enjoy the richness of the beans and sweetness of the cream and the sugar. Someone that _deserved_ it.

Len chanced a glance up at Mick, who was leaning back against the wall on his elbows, a smug looking grin on his face. He caught Len’s eye and raised his eyebrows suggestively. And then he winked. _Winked_.

“Big day today!” Ray continued, his smile honest and his tone light, though he was looking at Len light he might fall down any second.

And Len didn’t blame him. He’d caught a glimpse of himself in his wing mirror on his ride back to school and he looked like _death_ warmed up, with ever growing dark circles under his eyes and sallow cheeks.

One more day. Just _one more day._

And Len’s mind was preoccupied for all of it. Paying even less attention to his classes, his mind was wandering back and forth, going over his plans again and again and again. A to Z and every contingency in between.

His priority was making sure Lewis was caught. Everything else was variable. The clean getaway, the evidence, even Len’s own _freedom_ – that was all optional _,_ when it came right down to it.

 _Preferable_? Yes. Necessary? _No_. Not at a push.

Len would willingly martyr himself so long as Lewis came down with him.

At last the school bell rang and the three of them were out of the gate like lightning. Ray rode pillion with Mick while Len set off for Lisa. Leaving her at their grandfathers, he hugged her tight and kissed her forehead. Soon, very soon, he told her, they’d be together again properly. And things would be better.

Not perfect, but _better_.

 

* * *

 

_23:00 :00_

Everything was _set._ Len, Mick and Ray crouched in the hide, _watching_. _Waiting_. Their gear donned, their tools ready, each of them silently cycling through their own, personal, rituals. Len kept patting his pockets, making sure everything was where it was meant to be. His picks, his radio, his flashlight. The keys to his bike were already in the ignition.

Mick fidgeted beside him, re-lacing his right boot for the fifth time, muttering unintelligibly.

Ray manned the binoculars, his walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. He, like Mick and Len, was sporting all-black, from borrowed boots to turtleneck. Len had even lent him a pair of his old gloves. The gear tight and clinging to him like a second skin, Ray could have walked straight out of a low-budget spy movie. All he needed was a harness and some air vents to crawl through, or a bomb to disarm.  

Of course, Len wasn’t looking at how tight Ray’s pants were. Nor was he looking at how well that old shirt of his fit him. Mick definitely didn’t catch him looking either, and the pain in his ribs from Mick’s non-existent elbow jab was completely psychosomatic.

“Eyes front, lover boy,” Mick murmured, lilting up at the end in a grin.

Ray glanced over then quickly looked away, hiding back behind his binoculars. Yes, making Ray blush made Len feel _good_.

 Even if it was around the _guilt_.

Len had filled Ray in on his cues, many, many times. He was playing lookout, radioing in the mark’s movements. When he was out of sight, Ray was to keep vigil, informing Len and Mick of any activity on the street up until 11:33 _exactly_.

Then, he’d run to the payphone and place an anonymous 911 call. He’d heard _gunshots_. After that, there’d be 182 seconds until the patrol car screeched down the street, clapping Lewis in irons.

By which point, Len and Mick should be long gone, hightailing up the verge to their bikes for their getaway.

 _Easy_.

_23:14 :04_

Len was statue still, crouching low with his fingers arched on the ground for balance. His eyes were trained on the house through the underbrush, darting from window to window. He was watching, carefully, noting which rooms were lit and waiting for the shadow of their mark to pass as he moved through his house.

Beside him, Mick stirred. “We should get going,” he said, one gloved hand closing around the plastic-wrapped bundle at his knees.

Len nodded, once, eyes still fixed on the house for a second before turning. From his pocket he produced a small case, flicking it open to reveal a range of thin, metal objects and an understated blade. He slid out the knife from between his trusty picks and motioned with it to Mick.  

Diligently, Mick held out the bundle in front of him and Len leant forward, sliding the sharp edge of his knife through the zip-ties fastening the tarp.

“Try not to touch the centre,” Len added as Mick unwrapped the crowbar, taking hold of the lower end with a lopsided grin.

“Oh, don’t worry, I ain’t gonna,” Mick tested its weight and shifted it to his other hand, “we’re gonna _nail_ this son-of-a-bitch,” he jutted his chin up, “Ain’t that right, Haircut?”

Ray peeled his eyes away from his binoculars to give Mick a nervous grin and a tentative thumbs-up. But, under that anxious look, Len could see Ray’s bubbling excitement. The adrenaline rush had hit him early, and Len could empathise. He knew that as soon as he left the hide his heart would start beating in his chest like a war drum, sending epinephrine coursing through his veins and lighting up his brain like no other high could.

The thrill of it all, the danger, the _risk_ – he’d _loved_ it, ever since his father had first brought him along on a job. Knowing that at a second’s notice _anything_ could go wrong. One fuck up and it was done. _Game over_.

Knowing he was dancing that razor’s edge made Len feel _alive_.

But tonight, the stakes were higher. These next, long minutes would shape not only _his_ future, but his sister’s, too. They were playing sudden death with a loaded gun, fifty feet above the ground.

And Leonard Snart was loving every minute of it.

He made a move to stand, but Ray’s hand was quite suddenly on his arm, and Len turned.

Ray opened his mouth, then shut it again, his forehead wrinkling as he searched for the right thing to say, but came up short. Giving up on words, Ray instead fisted his hand into the front of Len’s sweater and pulled him in with a surprising strength, kissing him full on mouth.

Len let his eyes flick shut, one hand moving to Ray’s waist as he parted his lips, letting a quite moan escape them as Ray licked into his mouth.

But then Ray was pulling back, breathing hard and grinning like he’d just won first prize in the science fayre for the fifth year in a row.

“ _Ray_ mond-” Len began, his tone soft.

“For _luck_ ,” Ray spoke over him, firmly, setting his jaw and nodding once.

Len opened his mouth to say something else, but decided against it. Instead moving once again to stand, though keeping low, pulling on his balaclava and setting off down the verge.

Behind him, he heard the undertones of Mick’s _dirtiest_ chuckle, and a comradely thump of Mick’s hand on Ray’s shoulder.

_23:17 :39 _

 The panel flashed weakly on Len’s digital watch under the cover of his palm, his back pressed up against the wooden fence of the dealer’s yard. His breath was coming a little faster now, his heart beginning to thrum in anticipation.

Any minute now, their mark would leave the house.

Any minute now, he and Mick would be slipping into the yard, no more than two shadows in the night.

_Any minute now._

_23:21 :16 _

Mick switched his weight from foot to foot. Len held his breath. No word yet from Ray. As far as they knew, the dealer was still inside.

_23:23 :27 _

Still nothing.

 _Silence_.

Len unclipped the radio from his belt and held it up to his face, thumbing the transmission key.

“How we doing, Boy Scout?”

Silence for another second, then the radio crackled to life.

“ _He’s still in there, hold tight. Oh, and by the way, you really should say ‘over’ when you finish a transmission. That way I know you’re done with your message. Over.”_

“Raymond, I’m not having this argument with you now.”

“ _Over?_ _Over_.”

“…over,” Len sighed heavily, re-clipping the walkie-talkie to his pants.

Mick nudged him with his elbow, the grin on his face audible in his voice if hidden under his mask, “Your boyfriend’s cute.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Sure thing.”

_23:25 :38 _

Len was checking his watch _again_ when a new wave of static fizzed through the radio, followed by the cracks of Raymond’s voice.

“ _Alright! He’s out of the door! But uh,”_ there was a static-filled pause, “ _he’s alone. No dog. Over._ ”

“ _Shit_ ,” Mick breathed, his fist tightening around the crowbar.

From behind them there was a distant pattering, the sound of nails clacking on concrete at the other end of the yard.

Len scrubbed a gloved hand over his covered face. Time was tight already, and on top of that they had to deal with the _dog_ , too. _Fuck._  

“Alright. Fine. Raymond, keep coms to a minimum. _Change of plan_. When the mark’s halfway down the street, _then_ we go. Got it?”

“ _Got it. Over._ ”

The next few seconds dragged on into eternity as they waited for the signal. Behind the fence panels, Len could hear the soft keening of the dog, then _scrabbling_ a little way off.

Mick didn’t move an _inch_.

Then, at last, the radio cracked once again.

“ _He’s there. Go!”_

With a sigh of relief, Len peeled himself from the fence and set to work on the gate, slipping a sturdy pick into the gap between the wooden panel and the fencepost. A twist of his wrist and he’d caught the latch, pulling _up_ and _across_.

Metal scraped on metal and the latch opened with a _click._

And a _bark_.

Pattering again, _faster_ this time, as the dog raced from one corner of the yard to the gate. A thump of something against the wood, followed by a low, warning, _growl_. 

Len remained frozen in space, keeping the latch open and looking to Mick imploringly.

With a nod, Mick switched the crowbar to his left hand and hooked his fingers over the top of the gate, tugging it open an inch.

Len stepped back at once and a scarred muzzle pressed itself through the gap nearly two feet off the ground, teeth bared and claws scratching at the flagstones.

Len took another step back as Mick _moved._ Cracking the gate open another few inches, he sidestepped in front of the gap _just_ as the dog launched itself _out_ , hitting into him like a ton of bricks with teeth.

Mick _dropped_.

To his _knees_.

His right hand coming down and, quick as a flash, hooking two fingers through the leather of the dog’s collar and hauling it away from where it’s head was buried in Mick’s crotch, tongue lolling.

“ _Eugh_. You’re gross, you know that?” Mick muttered, balancing the tip of the crowbar on the sidewalk and levelled himself with the dog, “C’mon, _Mutt_ , back inside.”

The dog _whined_ , straining against its collar, but – with another tug from Mick – it backed up and trotted through the gate.

Smoothly, Len followed Mick through, pulling the gate shut behind him with a click. He quirked an eyebrow as Mick dug into his pocket, pulling out a chunk of pre-cut sausage from a little plastic baggie. The dog, who seemed at that moment content to gum the hem of Mick’s trouser leg, looked up with interest.

“Here ya go, bud,” Mick bent over to let the dog eat it from his hand, tussling it ears for good measure, “just stop licking my pants, alright?”

The dog did _not_ stop licking his pants.

Len took the lead, skirting round the fence to the back door, keeping in the shadows. Mick followed, the pit bull at his heel. When Mick stopped, the dog stopped with him, choosing to busy itself with sniffing and slobbering over the legs of Mick’s pants, which were, apparently, the tastiest thing it’d ever encountered.

Mick crouched, again, feeding the dog more sausage as Len picked the back door. A resounding _click_ and the three of them slipped inside, the only sound the panting of the pit bull and the beeping of the home security system.

With practiced ease, Len flipped open the fuse-box casing.

He pulled the fuse. The beeping stopped.

A few encouraging words later, and the rest of the contents of the bag, Mick had shut the dog in the kitchen, and switched his grip on the crowbar back to his dominant hand.

With a grin, he started work.

Dipping into the dining room he brought down the bar on the sideboard, smashing kitsch crockery and sending cut crystal tumbling to the floor. Suppressing a shout, Mick raised the crowbar high and let gravity do the work on a glass display cabinet, shattering it and sending shards spraying around him.

Through into the living room and lamps were _smashed_. The coffee table _splintered_ , the couch-cover _torn_ and stuffing spilling, Mick was a raging whirlwind of destruction. The only way he could have been having a _better_ time was if Len had let him bring _gasoline_.

Leonard, on the other hand, was riding his own personal high. Neck deep in picking the safe. It was more complex than the back door, but nothing Len couldn’t handle. It was doable. _Easily_ doable. They had _time_. Lewis wasn’t due for another-

_23:31 :49_

“ _Guys!”_ Ray’s voice crackled across the radio, “ _A van just pulled up outside. Headlights are out, and I can’t make out the plate-”_

“Shit. _Shit_!” Len swore, looking back over his shoulder and raising his voice, “ _Mick_ , we’ve got _company_!”

The crowbar met the widescreen TV with a _crash_.

“ _MICK!”_

“Huh?” Mick let the crowbar dangle at his side, turning to shoot Len a questioning look.

“Lewis,” Len clarified, turning back to the safe, “He’s _early_.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” the crowbar clattered to the floor, “Alright, c’mon, let’s go.”

“The _safe,”_ Len worked his picks faster, determined. He’d done this before; he could do it again.

“ _Fuck_ the safe. We’ve _done_ the damage, we gotta get out of here before-”

“ _Uh, guys,_ ” Ray’s voice pitched a note above panic, “ _He’s coming.”_

Mick snatched the radio from Len’s belt, “what side?”

“ _Uh-”_

“C’mon, Ray, what _side?_ ”

“ _Left! He’s going to the dining room window-”_

“Shit.”

If he got inside before they got out, they’d have to _pass_ him-

“Len! We ain’t got the _time_! Let’s _go_.”

“I’m _nearly_ there,” Len grit his teeth.

Mick’s hand was clamping around Len’s bicep, tugging him away, but Len jerked forward out of his grip.

Behind them – across the hall – a window smashed.

_23:33 :06_

Swearing under his breath, Mick brought the radio back to his face. “You need to make the call.”

“ _But you’re still in there!_ ”

“Too late, Lewis will be too. You ain’t got the time to wait on us,” Mick maintained steady eye contact with the back of Len’s head.

“ _But-_ ”

“ _Make_. _The_. _Call_.”

_23:33 :24_

The click of a tumbler finding its housing and Len felt a rush of triumph surge through him, pulling open the door of the safe and shoving his hand inside.

_23:33 :32_

The crunch of footsteps on broken glass and the triumph was overtaken by fear. _Panic_. Mick gripped him hard enough to leave a mark and _pulled_ , dragging him to the door.

“The _fuck_?” Lewis’ voice carried through the hall.

Metal against metal, the click of a hammer.

Mick yanked Leonard out of the living room and pressed him into the shadow of the stairwell. The wall jutted out into the hallway a little, enough to hide them in the dark, but if Lewis came this way-

The muzzle of a gun crossed the threshold of the dining room, followed by Lewis’ hulking form.

Fear gripped Len’s stomach and his chest began to tighten. He shoved his hand into his mouth. Mick’s hold on him didn’t loosen.

_23:34 :46_

Lewis eyed the hallway, eyed the _doorway_ to the living room, sweeping his gun from left to right.

Len didn’t move.

Len didn’t _breathe_.

_23:35 :11_

A scuffling sound from the other end of the house and Lewis pivoted, his gun levelled.

“ _Who’s there!?_ ”

Mick’s breath was hot against the side of Len’s face, and he felt his muscles _twitch_.

A noise cut through the house, loud and abrasive and so sudden Len almost couldn’t identify it.

The _dog_. Shut in the kitchen, it had heard Lewis’ shout, and _barked_. An unfamiliar voice, an _intruder_. It barked and snarled and threw its weight against the door, baying for _blood_.

Without another glance, Mick was hauling Len back through the house, through the back door and into the yard, barrelling down the path through the gate like the devil himself was at their heels.

_23:36 :51_

Across the street to the edge of the verge and Mick pulled Len down to his stomach. Len’s breath was coming hard and fast and his mask was too tight and too hot and too stuffy. He went to pull it off, needing _air_ , but Mick’s hand was on his, holding tight.

With the other he motioned down the street, past the bushes.

A blue light flashed. Tyres squealed.

Boots thudded across asphalt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS TOOK ME SO LONG! Sorry! The final chapter should be around within the next three/four days <3 
> 
> Thank you all so much for your kudos and wonderful comments! <3 <3 <3


	4. Blaze of Glory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the successful heist, the boys head home to celebrate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (It's been almost two months I'm so sorry chaps)  
> Anyway, this chapter contains a lot of explicit cannabis use, as well as underage drinking.  
> If that's not your thing, you might want to skip out.

Sirens, the flash of blue lights through the undergrowth. Ray’s heart was in his mouth as he crouched by the back wheels of the two motorcycles, _waiting._  

His hands shook, his breath coming hard and fast as the sheer _thrill_ gripped him; equal parts excitement, equal parts _fear_.

He’d left, run to make the 911 call, before Mick and Len had left the house. _As_ Lewis was breaking in. He’d stumbled out the words to the operator: ‘ _gunshots_ ’, then he gave the address.

And now the cops were here – 182 seconds later, just like Len had said – but Ray had no way of knowing if his friends had even made it _out_.

How _could_ he know?

Sure, he had the radio, but if they were still inside, and if they were _hiding_ … Ray couldn’t risk giving them away.

So instead he gripped the rubber of the tyres, gloved fingertips digging into the tread, hoping beyond hope that they’d _made it_.

The sound of crunching behind him and Ray turned, relief flooding through him as two familiar figures emerged from the underbrush.

Mick still wore his mask, but Len had his in hand, a wide grin plastered across his face.

Ray wanted to shout, scream, jump in the air and _holler!_

_They’d done it! They’d actually done it!_

Mick’s hand clapped Len’s back and he was pushing him past Ray to his bike, grabbing his helmet from the ground and shoving it on.

“C’mon, we gotta go,” Mick shoved another helmet at Ray, “We can celebrate later.”

Ray trotted along, almost skipping, as Len and Mick pushed their rides from the bushes onto the path and mounted. Ray swung his leg over the saddle behind Mick, his arms twisting around the older boy’s waist as Mick fired the ignition; the engine roaring to life.

As soon as they hit the road they split, Len zooming one way and Mick taking the other, circling around a mile out and coming back through the city a different way.

All the while Ray couldn’t stop his _grin_.

The wind against his face, his heart pumping, and his cheek pressed into the cool leather at Mick’s shoulder, Ray was in a daze. The events of the evening played through his head again and again, writing and re-writing the highs: his friends the intrepid heroes like the adventure books he’d read as a kid.

He barely noticed the city passing by, broken from his thoughts only when the revs of the engine slowed, then finally cut, and the hulking shape of Mick in front of him shifted to push out the kick-stand of the bike.

With a grunt, Mick was climbing off, pulling off his helmet and shaking his head free of his snood while Ray sat there and blinked. Mick’s house. They were at Mick’s house, pulled up around the back.

Tucking the helmet under one arm, Mick grinned. “C’mon, Haircut, let’s get inside.”

“Uh,” Ray’s mouth opened, “Inside? Inside. Yeah, inside. Inside is good.”

He hopped off the bike and unclipped the strap of his skullcap, following diligently a few paces behind Mick as he let himself in through the gate to the back yard.

The back door was open, too, and Mick flicked on the kitchen light on his way through, grabbing a beer bottle from the mess on the counter and twisting off the cap with his teeth. Ray tugged his fingers through his hair – mussed up from the helmet – and followed Mick through the house to his bedroom.

Mick dumped his own helmet down on the floor two steps through the door, swigging the beer and slamming it down on the nightstand before setting to work on his jacket.

Ray followed suit, gingerly placing his helmet with Mick’s and turning to the older boy, to be met with a face full of _abs_.

Jacket on the ground, Mick was mid-way through pulling his shirt off over his head, and Ray was caught in the proverbial honey trap as Mick dumped that, too, and _flexed_.

_Holy shit. Holy_ **shit.**

Ray _gawped_.

He knew Mick worked out – he’d seen him bench press _Leonard_ before without breaking a sweat – but _jeepers_ was he not prepared for the _definition_.

Mick was a big guy, sure, and every ounce of him was solid freaking _muscle_. His shoulders were the width of a football court; his biceps were probably as big as Ray’s _head,_ and his _pecs_ were practically dinner plates. There was no small wonder why Len was so into him-

“Like what you see, Boy Scout?”

Ray was yanked from his mental salivation to find Mick grinning at him from across the room. The grin only got wider when Ray failed to come up with an answer, or even intelligible _words_ , instead opting for a guppy-impression as Mick crossed the room, clapping him on the shoulder before fishing out what Ray could only assume was a clean shirt from the pile of laundry on the floor.

It was almost a disappointment to watch Mick slip the shirt on, grabbing his beer back from the side and throwing Ray a grin. Ray could feel the colour in his face.

“You’re _cute_. With those big eyes and rosy cheeks – I can see what Lenny likes about ya,” Mick said, winking, before lifting the beer to his lips. He chugged it down in one, belching loudly.

“Thanks? I think…” Ray swung his arms uselessly at his sides, feeling more than a little out of place.

“Don’t worry, kid, he’ll be here soon. He’s just got a few things to take care of, is all. In the meantime,” Mick slapped the body of the empty bottle into his palm, “ _beer_.”

 

* * *

 

Sitting cross-legged, back up against the wall, Ray had bundled his sweater into his lap and had rested the brown-glassed beer bottle on top of it. He’d managed about half of the bitter, hoppy liquid in the same time Mick had gone through _three_ , and he was already feeling the warmth creeping into his cheeks.

The buzz from the heist – yes, that’s what it was, a _heist_ , that Ray had been a _part_ of – had dulled only slightly, the beer happily sloshing in to fill the gaps. Mick, too, hadn’t stopped grinning, sitting across from Ray and lolled out against a bedpost, beer in one hand and lighter in the other.

Every now and then, Mick’d thumb it open, watching the flame sputter into life and dance for a second before snuffing it out, and his eyes would dart up to the door.

It’s been nearly an hour since they’d split with Len, and they hadn’t heard a peep. Mick seemed confident he was okay. Ray was, too, though he kept checking his watch, counting the minutes, watching the seconds on the digital face tick by.

“You don’t stop looking at that thing I’m gonna break it off your wrist.”

Ray looked up sharply to find Mick leering at him over the rim of his bottle, “-what?”

“You’re making me nervous, Haircut. Lenny’ll _be_ here. We didn’t get tailed, neither would he. And he’s smart enough not to do anything that’ll make the cops want to pull him over. Lights on, under the speed limit, signals his turns and _everything_. Flying _way_ under the radar- ah!” Mick turned to the door as the soft scrape of metal-on-metal then the click of a latch sounded from the hall, “Speak of the devil!”

The front door shut quietly, and boots sounded down the hall as Ray pushed himself up to standing.

A second later, a figure darkened Mick’s bedroom doorway. Still clad in tight black gear, Leonard Snart looked skinnier than usual, his customary leather jacket slung over one arm. His hair was a mess – curls spilling over left right and centre, and the stress of the evening was still written on his face. He looked _exhausted_.  

Mick was on his feet in an instant, grabbing beer from the torn cardboard of the six-pack by his feet and catching the set of keys Len sent flying in his direction in the same motion. Crossing the room, and pocketing the keys, Mick clapped a hand onto Len’s shoulder, beaming as Len sighed – the tension leaving him – and leant against him.

Ray felt himself swallow involuntarily, watching Mick’s hand relocate to Len’s waist – a comfortable, familiar hold – as he took Len’s weight, tipping his head so that his cheek brushed against Len’s temple. He pressed the fresh beer into Len’s hand.

“Soup’s on.”

Len sighed again, twisting the cap off and sipping with a satisfied hum, then snapped his eyes open.

Ray found himself caught in the brilliant blues, Len’s gaze piercing for the briefest of seconds before it morphed into something else – was that _guilt_? – and Len pushed himself away from Mick. Crossing to the centre of the room, Len dumped his jacket down on the floor and stretched out his arms, rolling his shoulders back and forth, cracking his neck and sitting down with a thump.

 “Any trouble on the road?” Mick said, groaning a little as he planted himself back on the floor, this time next to Len.

“Passed a traffic cop half way out, but otherwise,” Len shrugged, “everything was clear.”

Ray felt a knot in his stomach untie – Len had been safe all along – and he settled himself between the two older boys so that they formed a rough triangle.

Mick slapped Ray’s thigh for good measure, putting his own beer down next to him. “Good. And nothing when you got to the house?”

The corner of Len’s mouth twitched down, for a second, but it was so fast Ray could have sworn he imagined it.  “I said it was _clear_ , didn’t I?”

Mick stared, looking like he was on the cusp of saying something, but instead shook his head, “Yeah, fine, whatever. But you did what you had to do, right? This whole shebang ain’t gonna go up in smoke if the fuzz gets a warrant?”

“ _When_ the cops get a warrant,” Len bit, “they’ll find what they _need_ to find.”

Ray stared blankly.

“The _photographs_ , Raymond,” Snart continued, “the _camera_ , and the _drugs_.”

“The-” Ray opened and closed his mouth, “The _drugs?_ I mean, I knew you took photographs, but-”

Len pressed his fingers into his forehead. “ _Raymond_ , keep _up_. The recon break in – I got Lewis’ prints all over those polaroids, and the camera too. Cops’ll find them practically gift-wrapped, plus a little extra _motive_. As much as I’d have liked to snatch a pound of coke from that safe, there wasn’t _time_. But,” he grinned, “light fingers always find _something_ to lift.”

“Oh, you _bet_ ,” Mick slapped his hand against Leonard’s thigh, this time, and dug his other hand into his pocket, “never guess what I picked up while you were faffing with that lock-box.”

Ray looked from Mick to Len and back again, incredulous, “You’re _unbelievable_.”

 “Oh, you better start believing,” Mick pulled out his hand and dropped whatever he’d taken into the middle of the circle with a flourish, “ _ta-da_.”

Len whistled low, while Ray stared.

“Is that… that’s marijuana, right?” Ray knit his eyebrows together.

In the centre of them all was a Ziploc bag, not exactly _small_ , that was half filled with a course, grey-green matter. It wasn’t like Ray had never seen weed before, but he tried to avoid that kind of thing as much as he could, even around Mick and Len. He’d always find something else to do when they were rolling up.  

“ _Oh_ yeah. And good shit, too. Blows my usual crap outta the water,” there was pride in Mick’s voice as he spoke.

“ _Mick_ , you’re a credit to yourself,” Len was grinning and reaching for the bag, bringing it up to his face to scrutinise it, “You got papers?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah,” Mick dug back into his jeans and came back out with his lighter and a book of rolling papers, the latter of which he thrust in Len’s direction.

Ray watched with an almost morbid curiosity as Len busied himself rolling the first joint, tearing a strip of cardboard from the cover of the papers to roach it and twisting the end before handing it over to Mick.

As Mick lit and inhaled, Len deftly rolled a second, jamming it between his teeth and pulling out another paper. He paused, eyes flicking up to meet Ray’s.

“You in, Raymond?”

“Uh,” Ray blinked, eyes darting between Snart’s and the paper in his hand. Was he _serious?_  “I mean, uhm, thanks, but _no_ thanks…”

“Sure?” Len’s voice took on a gentle tone, affirming rather than pressing. As ever.

“ _Sure_.” Ray swallowed, taking another swig of beer out of sheer awkwardness, and almost choking on it as Mick’s fist connected lightly with his shoulder.

“Suit yourself, kid.”

Len sparked up, settling back on his hands and stretching his legs out in front of him, Ray shimmying round closer to Len’s side to let him splay out.

It’d been a long day, a long _week_ , for all of them. But now it was done and they could breathe, safe in the knowledge that Lewis Snart was in custody, and he wouldn’t be able to raise a hand to either of his kids again.

By the time Ray had gotten to the bottom of his beer, all the tension in Len’s shoulders had evaporated, leaving him lilting to the side, spread out with his back against Mick’s side and one leg strewn across Ray’s knees.

“Bastard’s finally gone,” Len said, for the third time, shaking his head in near-disbelief, “we actually _did_ it. No fucking lawyer’ll be able to call ‘reasonable fucking doubt’ on that. His gun was in his _hand_. His prints are on _everything_.”

“He’ll be in the slammer for years, alright,” Mick grunted, “but it ain’t as good as the _permanent_ solution.”

“Killing him’d just put more heat on you,”

“You saying I can’t handle the heat, _Boss?_ ”

“I’m saying that scumbag isn’t worth thirty-to-life,” Len tipped his head back onto Mick’s shoulder.

Mick grunted, again, shoving the joint back into his mouth and cupping over the end with one hand to spark it back up.

Ray met Len’s eyes as his lip curled up in a smirk – a private exchange as Mick faffed with his joint – and Ray felt a laugh building up in his chest. He shook the beer bottle, his head a little lighter than it had been, and pulled a pout when it came up empty.

“You lacking a beverage there, Raymond?” Len arched back against Mick and crossed one calf over the other in Ray’s lap, “I’m sure we can sort you out.”

“Like hell we can,” Mick snorted, “You just cracked open the last one. Sorry, Haircut, it’s weed or nothin’”

“Not got anything in the fridge?”

“Oh, sure, but that’s down the hall and you’re pinnin’ us both down, _Boss_. Something tells me you ain’t too happy to move now you’ve got the monopoly on all the dick in the room.”

“I won’t deny that I’m a _hard_ asset man,” Snart’s grin pulled wider.

Mick half-choked on his toke and Ray felt his ears turn pink.

“Don’t make me do somethin’ we’ll both regret with your boyfriend in the room, Lenny,” Mick said when he’d got his breath back, hand coming down to splay on Len’s chest.

“I already told you, he’s not my _boyfriend_ ,” Len drawled out, head lolling to the side before he caught himself in a wince.

Ray tried not to meet his eyes.

Eager to change the subject, Len pressed on, “So what’ll it be, Raymond. Weed or nothing?”

“Uh,” Ray set his empty bottle down gingerly next to him, his eyes settling on the joint balanced between Len’s fingers. It’d been a long night, adrenaline still latently circulating, mixed with the _beer_ … Surely it couldn’t be _that_ bad, right? This wasn’t the first time he’d been around Snart and Rory when they’d been smoking hash, and he kinda liked the way it loosened them both up… Sure, maybe it was the beer, but you couldn’t be a _scientist_ without being at least _curious_ … “Maybe… just a drag?”

“ _Raymond_ …” Len pushed himself up a little straighter.

“I mean-” there was the faintest hint of panic in Ray’s voice as he backpedalled, “I don’t- I wouldn’t- It’s just that-”

“-We’ve finally succeeded in corrupting you,” Len finished for him with a smirk.

“Way to go, Boy Scout,” Mick grinned at him over Len’s head, “ _Here_.” He leant around Len – Snart grunting slightly with the movement – and passed what was left of his joint to Ray.

Ray took it, delicately, and held it up to his face. Mick had smoked about two thirds of it, and was grinning lazily at him as Ray looked it over – the construction, the rolled up cardboard in one end, the diameter – and then, equally cautiously, put it in his mouth.

“Uh…” Ray said around the joint, eyes darting to Mick and then Len for instruction.

With a sigh, Len swung his legs off of Ray’s lap and pushed himself up to a crouch, his own lighter appearing in hand.

Ray sat there, very still, as Len positioned himself beside him, the touch of his hand at his shoulder reassuring and welcome.

“Just take a deep breath,” Len murmured as he struck the flint, bringing the flame up to light the joint.

And Ray did.

“ _Ack!_ ”

The smoke – the density of it, the _dryness_ – caught Ray by surprise, and his lungs gave a resounding ‘ _no_ ’ as they rejected the breath. Coughing, spluttering, Ray felt Len’s hand squeeze his shoulder, and was vaguely aware of the guffaw from Mick as he tried to get his breath back.

Eyes watering, Ray held the joint at arm’s length.

“Lenny, you owe me ten bucks,” Mick grinned.

“Alright, Raymond, just take it _easy_ ,” Len murmured beside him.

Ray could feel Len’s warmth as he pressed up against him, knees against his thigh, arm more firmly around his shoulders.

“You weren’t expecting it, is all. But now you know. Now – if you _want_ to – try again. That’s it, like an asthma inhaler, take a nice deep breath and hold it- That’s it, you got it,” Len grinned, “now _exhale_.”

As Ray did, he felt Len’s fingers trail down his spine to the small of his back and back up again, his palm resting between his shoulder blades.

“Boy Scout did _good_ ,” Mick grinned over at him,

Ray smiled back. The second go was much better than the first, he thought. Not _pleasant_ , exactly, but he didn’t choke and splutter. It was, he mused, similar to sitting round a campfire when the wind blows your way, the smoke taking the moisture from his mouth, chafing on his windpipe as he sucked it down and rubbing back up with friction as he exhaled.

The pleasant buzz he’d had from his beer seemed to be spreading, from the base of his skull down his spine and reaching out into his fingers. The tension, residual from the last weeks compounded into the last few hours of sheer adrenaline, sublimed, his shoulders dropping as content settled over him.

He was here, in Mick’s messy bedroom, with Leonard flipping Snart’s arm around his shoulders. He could feel his body heat from him more intensely, somehow, like they were skin-to-skin. He smelt, too, but not bad. Not bad at all. Like sweat, and smoke, and leather – Ray wondered if he’d taste like that too, if he were to lick his neck.

He _wanted_ to lick his neck.

“Well fuck me sideways,” Mick slapped his own thigh with a laugh, “one hit and he’s out. Lookit him, Lenny.”

Ray shook his head, hoping that’d clear his thoughts a little, and looked up to Mick. He was laughing. At him, probably. Yeah, that was the most likely outcome. What was the probability that he was laughing at something other than him? That he’d be laughing even is Ray wasn’t there? It was pretty low.

“What’s funny?” Ray felt the warmth of Len’s chest as he moved behind him, and he leaned into it unquestioningly, with a noise of content. Which just set Mick off laughing again.

“You are. You’re stoned as balls, and you haven’t even had another drag yet, _Boy Scout_.”

Yup. Time to reject his null hypothesis – probability was less than 0.05 that Mick’s laughing was due to chance. If he had something to scribble down on, maybe he could record when Mick laughed for the rest of the night, make a graph.

“Raymond,”

His rejection had been a little premature; he needed at least fifteen clear data points before he could run a proper statistical test and be sure any correlation was significant. Then he could be more sure of a causal link. Right?

“ _Raymond_ ,” the voice in his ear was loud, the breath hot, and Ray pushed himself back further against Len’s chest.  

“Uh-huh?” Ray drifted back from his thoughts to talk to the underside of Len’s jaw.

“You having fun, there?”

“Me? Oh, oh yeah. This is great. Super great. I mean, super _bad_ , but super great, too. Like, wow. My mom would kill me if she found out about this, like, actually kill me. With a knife. Or something,” Ray shrugged, bringing the joint back up to his lips to take another, less-tentative, drag.

It was easier again, this time. He knew what to expect, the taste of it – a little sweet – and the feel of the smoke tugging down into his lungs where he held on to it for a good twenty seconds ‘til his head started spinning from lack of oxygen, if nothing else.

He let it go in a sigh that almost set him off coughing again, but hands on his shoulders pushed him more upright, which made breathing much easier.

_Damn, Len must be good at this. He knows all the tricks._

Ray looked down at the joint in his hand, realising all of a sudden that it wasn’t his. With a jerk, he tried to launch himself sideways, arm outstretched, but unbalanced.

His shoulder hit the carpet with a thunk, his arm bouncing across Mick’s thighs.

_Fuck, that was-_

“Oh my _god_ ,” Snart had his hand clasped over his mouth, the other still on Ray’s hip.

Ray lifted his head to look between his friends, slightly dazed. “Oopsie.”

That was it. Len was laughing. Not his normal little smiles or smirks, but a full out, rib aching laugh. Mick, too, was doubled over, which in and of itself was a picture, and Ray was almost too hung up on that to remember to breathe.

His laughs wracked through him, tears springing to his eyes as he tried to push himself back up.

His arm gave way.

_Of course it did._

That was even funnier.

He tried again, but it was the same deal, made even worse by the _gasping_ coming from down by his feet as Len did his best new-born piglet impression, body shaking.

 

* * *

 

Ray wasn’t sure how much time had passed, exactly. It was difficult to tell. _Very_ difficult. He was pretty sure his watch wasn’t counting the seconds correctly, and he made a mental note to take it apart later to see what was wrong.

Maybe he could program it better? It could already play ‘Happy Birthday’, but it wasn’t any of their birthdays, so maybe it’d gotten stuck and was trying to make it June already.

Ray wouldn’t put it past the watch. It was sly like that.

Either way, Ray found himself to be quite comfortable. He’d taken Len’s place in the centre of the group, with his head leant back against Mick’s really very firm thigh, and his knees hooked over Snart’s lap. His ankles were crossed and his heels just touching the floor.

At some point, Len had stuck his hand up Ray’s top. It had been _freezing_. But it was okay, now. Ray’s belly had warmed it right up, so he barely noticed the pressure. He was half tempted to check whether Len’s hand had fused to his skin, he hadn’t moved it in so long, but Ray was unsure whether they’d be a tissue-type match.

If they weren’t, that kind of fusion could be messy. Ray might reject Len’s antigens and BAM. _Necrosis._  

That didn’t sound fun. He didn’t want to have a zombie hand part of his stomach. It might make him want to eat brains, and that was not something Ray thought would pass the ethical board. Even if it did, they’d probably have to do animal trials first…

_Speaking of animals..._

“ _Mick_ ,” Ray tipped his head back further and watched as his friend munched down on a handful of Doritos, “the _one_ thing I don’t get, right, out of everything…”

“Huh?” Mick looked down, wiping the cheese dusting off his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Is the _dog_. I mean, it’s a Pit. Not that I’m… racist to dogs, or anything,” Ray said quickly as Mick’s eyebrows creased, “but I _saw_ it. Barking and snarling like it was going to maul anything that came near it to pieces! How’d you… well, not _die?_ ”

Mick scoffed, ruffling Ray’s hair with one big (like, _really_ big) palm, and shoving the other back into the Dorito bag.

“Poor bastard got locked out in the yard every time the owner fucked off, didn’t it? I was on surveillance of that place for _two weeks_ , Haircut. You think I just sat up there in the bushes watching every time he left?”

“Uh… _Yes?_ ” Ray wiggled his shoulders against Mick’s leg.

“ _Dumbass_. Took some time to get to know the mutt. Fed it. Talked to it a bit. Made sure it knew my scent.”

_Woah._

“Woah. How’d you know it’d work? Like, even if it knew you, how’d you know it wouldn’t try and bite you as soon as you tried to get _in_?”

Another snort from Mick. “Didn’t.”

“So it was a gamble?”

“’s what I said, ain’t it?”

“What would you have done if it tried to bite you anyway?”

“Had a crowbar, didn’t I?”

“Wait wait wait, you would have _killed it_?” Ray was pushing himself up, twisting his torso to look between Mick and Len in a slight panic, “You would have killed the _dog!?_ ”

“I mean, if I had to,” Mick shrugged, “Wouldn’t’a wanted to. Probably just stunned it anyway.”

“Don’t worry, Raymond, we’re not heartless psychopaths,” Len grinned at him, and Ray flopped back down.

_This was nice._

Just sitting here, spending time with his friends. Well, his friend and his _more than_ friend. Not boyfriend. They weren’t dating. Len said he wasn’t his boyfriend. That wasn’t a thing they were doing. He’d _know_ if they were dating, right?

People who are dating usually know that sort of thing about each other. Or so Ray had been led to believe.

They kissed. They definitely kissed. They kissed and Len put his arms around him and it was really great. Really, _really_ great. But they hadn’t really talked much about it.

Which was fair, Ray reasoned. They’d all be a bit busy trying to lock Lewis Snart up to have the time to have a sit down about feelings and all.

“Keep telling yourself that,” Mick said with an audible grin, followed by the crunch of more chips.

“I wouldn’t say you’re _heartless_ ,” by the scuffling sounds, Ray could tell Len was pulling out his lighter.

“’course I am. Gave it to you, didn’t I?” Mick slapped a hand down on Ray’s chest for emphasis.

Len groaned, sparking up again with a fleeting, sheepish glance at Ray. Ray wouldn’t have caught it if Mick’s chest slap hadn’t sent him up for air.

With a cough, Ray pulled his legs off of Len’s lap, crossing them and sitting himself upright. “That’s kinda sweet, Mick.”

Mick grunted in agreement, and Ray felt Len’s eyes flick to him again.

“I mean, it’s so special what you two have, you know? Not many people get that opportunity. For friendship, and, and _love_ , even, with someone that you just _click_ with so well.”

“ _Raymond-”_ there was apprehension in Snart’s voice. Ray could hear it, even though his own eyes were very focussed on the patch of carpet in-between his thighs.

“I know you had sex,” Ray didn’t mean it to come out so bluntly. He could feel Len wince from where he was sitting. He also didn’t mean to keep going, but he’d lost the ability to control what was coming out of his mouth when he lost what was left of his sobriety. “I mean, recently. Not just in the past, in juvie. You guys are pretty easy to read. And it makes sense. It’s been stressful, you have _history_ …”

“Ray-”

“No, no, I don’t _care_ ,” Ray finally looked up from his lap to meet Len’s eyes, like ice on a frozen lake, “That’s what I’m trying to _say._ I mean, I know that whatever we have, whatever _this_ is,” he gestured between himself and Len with a hand, “isn’t _half_ as much as what you have with Mick. And that’s _okay_. I… I’m younger than you, Len. I’m not as _experienced_. I don’t have the same things that Mick has, I can’t… _give_ you the same things Mick can.

“I’m not angry, or hurt, even. Or judging you. You can be with him if you want to be. That’s up to you. But, if, well, if you still, after everything, if you’re still _interested_ ,” Ray was suddenly very aware of how _quiet_ the room was, “I’m here. Still. Always. As your friend, or _more_ than a friend. If you’re not sleeping with Mick.

“Or, even if you _are_. I’m not… huh. For some reason that doesn’t bother me. I thought it would but, it doesn’t,” he shrugged, “I won’t make you choose. I won’t make you do anything. I’m here if you want that, but if you want Mick instead, or _as well-_ ”

“Raymond,” Len cut him off, his voice stronger and his shoulders set a little higher, “shut _up_.”

Ray opened his mouth to do exactly the opposite, and there was a blur of motion. Len moving forwards, toward him, _on top of him_.

“I said shut _up_.”

And Len’s mouth met Ray’s with _conviction._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we have it, folks!  
> Catenation is finished!  
> There _will_ be a part three to this story, but I can't guarantee when exactly that will come about. I have plans, but real life is thing that gets in the way.  
>  So sorry, once again, it took me so long to get this chapter up. I hit a bit of a block on it, if I'll be honest, and again, those real life things just keep popping up and stopping me from writing. 
> 
> Big, huge thanks to everyone who's been reading this, and an even bigger thanks to those who comment, because really those things keep me going and remind me that people do enjoy my writing after all :') 
> 
> I love each and every one of you dearly. 
> 
> Quick reminder that you can go and yell at me over on [ tumblr.](http://chesacakeripper.tumblr.com)
> 
> (P.s. shoutout to all the stoner forums that exist so I could research this without having to uh, partake, myself. If there's any inaccuracy, blame them, not me!)


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